


The Political Bride

by spineandsanguinity



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pedwrathia, Prequel, Suicide mention, Vengess, Wrathful Pride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spineandsanguinity/pseuds/spineandsanguinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrathia and Pedri. The rulers of hundreds of galaxies. Ruthless, cunning, determined. Yet, it was not always so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wretched Tea Ceremony

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, don't really expect anyone to read this, but I've started this for a friend, and thought I'd share. Please excuse any horrendous spelling/grammar mistakes on my part, and do forgive me if I've left any mistakes. Comments are appreciated! Enjoy reading!

     The sky blazed red as the sun fell, and the young princess watched from her balcony, transfixed by the clouds that spun in spirals across the lake. Beside her stood her father with his pipe, billowing thick purple smoke from his nostrils.

     "Do you understand, Wrathia?"

     "Yes, father."

     The king then left without another word, his cape flowing out behind him as he walked back inside. So it would be done. In six years time, when Wrathia was to turn one hundred and sixty, she would wed Prince Corval Ralakeith of the Karo galaxy. Though several years her junior, their wedding would herald a new age of peace, and an equally prosperous trading opportunity. 

A servant opened the door for him as he reached the great hall. Nodding his head, he took long strides to return to his study, as he had much work to do regarding the official documents and post-marital celebrations. When he had first told Wrathia, she had looked at him peculiarly, first with confusion, then with anger. She was not one to be told what to do. Yet, even she at such a young age understood the political value that the marriage held.

     The king paused as he went to open the door, feeling an odd emotion. 

     Pride. 

     How strange. 

     Shaking it off, he went inside and closed the door behind him.

     Wrathia was a tool for power. Nothing more.

\---

     The Vengess people were not particularly known for their kindness. Princess Wrathia was no exception, especially during combat training.

     "You little bitch!" Manaria shrieked, swiping at the princess, who dodged the blow easily. "Sneaky little-"

     "What? I can't hear you from all the way up here!" Wrathia smiled fiendishly, standing atop the rafters.

     "Typical Wrathia, always running away from a fight," Manaria smiled, swinging her axe as if it weighed nothing. "It'd be a pity if you fell down."

     Wrathia tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

     "This!" Manaria jumped, shrieking with glee as she launched her axe into the air, heading straight for the princess' head.

     Then all of a sudden, nothing.

     Manaria frowned, then looked over her left shoulder, where Wrathia held the axe over her head. "You're dead."

     "Excellent job, Your Highness!" the combat tutor exclaimed, clasping his hands together. "Your speed is unmatched and your style is flawless!"

     "Thank you, Marok," Wrathia smiled, setting the axe on the floor.

     Manaria sighed. "Yeah, thank you, _father_."

     "You were excellent too, my child!"

     "How nice," Manaria drawled, as her father patted her head. Wrathia smiled and watched her cousin grimace as her father showered her with affection. Though Marok was the Queen's brother, he had married into a noble family from the Ombe galaxy, where such displays were normal. It was a perfect fit, as Marok had always been viewed as too emotional. But then again, he was the Commander of the King's Covert Enforcement Squad, so Wrathia was sure Marok hid a darker side to him than she and Manaria would expect.

     "Anyways, princess, it's time for you to go to your next class. Lunch will be promptly after."

     Wrathia nodded and walked to the door. With a wave of her hand, it opened. She was just about to walk through when a familiar face strolled past.

     "Lord Pedri," Wrathia called.

     "Princess." Pedri nodded. "Let us go."

     The two walked together to the library, where Seral would be teaching them political strategies and etiquette. It was an odd mix of curriculums, and it had something to do with the fact that that old etiquette teacher had mysteriously disappeared months before. Seral had been forced to replace the old teacher temporarily, but to be honest, the king had probably forgotten that the problem needed to be dealt with.

     Seral was an old, fat and bearded Vengess with a short temper, so it was extraordinarily fun to watch him try to teach Pedri a waltz. Wrathia fondly remembered one lesson where Seral had become so annoyed that he had sat upon a pile of books and refused to talk, hissing at Pedri the moment he stepped closer.

     "Which is it today, Highness?" Pedri asked as they neared the library. From inside you could hear a hideous screeching from the sound of Seral improperly tuning a violin.

     "Etiquette," said Wrathia, her head held regally. "Though I bore of it."

     "As do I, Highness." Pedri nodded, his words utterly formal and completely wooden.

     The two continued to walk wordlessly, with Wrathia looking up at Pedri every now and then. He was much taller than her, though his final fangs had yet to come in so he could not possibly be older than herself. Pedri looked down at her, raising an eyebrow in question. Wrathia did not break eye contact, instead, raising an eyebrow back. She was a princess, she would not be phased by something as simple as common mannerisms.

     Pedri chuckled and looked forward again.

     Wrathia paced slightly behind him, looking out the windows that lined the hall. Pedri was the son of Lord Feri and Lady Trewa Nanezgani, a noble by birth. He had been studying abroad in a Karo boarding school until last month, when he had been invited back for the wedding of Princess Wrathia. Now, the two had class together, until the wedding could be done. It was a wise choice on her father's part of course. Wrathia understood that. In all of her classes she had at least one other person of Vengess nobility with her, all of them the children of the king's advisors and parliament. Though it was not stated, there was a highly likely chance that each of the children would go on to fill their parent's roles, so it made sense for the future queen to create strong bonds with them from a young age. She had combat training with Manaria, child of the Chief Enforcer. She had Mathematics with the Minister of Commerce's son. She had her various magic classes with the Lady Sorceress's twins, though it was mostly her studying, as the twins were only children with their horns barely cresting. She dined with other various soon-to-be lords and ladies as well, though only the most important sat with her at the table. Magic, Math, Combat, Singing, Past Studies, Geography, and more. Yet, Politics (now turned politics and etiquette) had left her alone, as her father had yet to find a suitable student for her to learn beside. Then came Pedri.

     She did not know that much about him. Frankly, she didn't even know what roles his parents filled. She supposed that she should know, but from the way the two sat and conversed in whispers with her father at dinner, she guessed it had to be a crucial spot to fill.

     When she and Pedri reached the door, he opened it for her, stepping aside to let her in. She nodded to him, and he nodded back, following behind her and closing the door. Seral greeted them and ushered them over to the centre of the large room, where a table set with food lay, overflowing.

     "Seral," Pedri asked. "Is lunch not after this?"

     "Lord Pedri, it is a lesson in tea."

     "Tea?" Wrathia snorted. "Since when do the Vengess drink tea? It is nothing but boiled leaves!"

     Seral turned to Wrathia exasperatedly. "Princess, need I remind you that tea is one of the main exports of the Karo galaxy, where your soon to be husband originates from? I thought it appropriate for you to learn about Karo culture before you wed, along with the most popular drink served among the noble folk of that galaxy."

     "But where is the tea?" Pedri asked, looking at the table. "There is nothing here but pantry fare."

     Seral smiled. "Why, you will be making it!"

     "What?" Wrathia fumed. "I refuse. This is a job for a servant!"

     "Princess, I do believe it is a job for you," murmured Pedri, picking up a biscuit.

     Wrathia jerked her head to glare at Pedri.

     "There is a tea ceremony involved in Karo wedding rituals. And, if i'm not mistaken," he continued, turning to Seral for reassurance, who nodded. "The ceremony involves the serving of tea to both of the husband and wife's parents. You and Prince Corval will be making the tea in front of the entire empire."

     "What a wretched beverage," grumbled the princess, her hair snapping and crackling like an open fire.

     "Please, Highness," said Pedri, smiling. "Out of respect for the Karo."

     "Respect shall be given when it is due, and so far I have seen none from them," whispered Wrathia under her breath. "Fine. Let us make this distasteful _tea_ ," she sneered on the last word.

     Seral nodded, his beard hiding any emotions his face held. "Excellent. Dren, bring in the supplies please."

     A small cart was wheeled in by an Omben girl, her dark, leathery wings fluttering nervously. On it lay several ornate teapots with matching sets of cups, each one with a gilded and expensive look. On the side lay several wooden boxes filled with pleasant smelling tea leaves, each marked with different labels written in Karok. On the bottom of the cart were four small pots, each sloshing with water, no doubt for boiling. The cart came to a stop at the side of the table and the Omben girl fluttered off back to the kitchens.

     Seral walked over to the cart and hefted the pots next to the food with ease, the iron table shuddering as each one was dropped onto it.

     "Now, the first step is to boil the water, which will be used later to steep the tea leaves."

     "Do we need a boiler?" asked Pedri. "I see none here."

     Wrathia and Seral laughed, with Pedri remaining confused.

     "My Lord, I'm sure you've been away for a while," chuckled Seral. "But surely you know of genetics?"

     "What of it?" asked Pedri, still looking perplexed.

     "Well," said Seral. "The royal family is known for it's impressive lineage, with such ancestors as Aladra the Great and Queen Kallastair the fourth."

     Pedri nodded.

     Seral continued, rubbing the back of his neck. He smiled unsurely. "Well, my Lord, it is a well known fact that there are many impressive magical talents that have been bred into the Royal line, with the most notable being power over flames."

     Pedri nodded again, but still remained lost.

     Sighing, Wrathia snapped her fingers. In a flash, her whole hand was lit ablaze, with her arm glowing bright yellow.

     Pedri nodded again. If he was startled, he hid it.

     Seral gestured to the princess, who held a bored look on her face, even as it appeared that the fire was eating her hand like kindling.

     Pedri raised his chin. "So that explains the colour change when you become angry."

     Wrathia shrugged. "It's an unavoidable part of using the talent."

     "And your hair, Highness," Pedri watched, fascinated as the princess' hair smoldered and glowed, now fiery to match her sorcery. "It's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. Like a sunset off of the palace hills."

     If it had been Manaria, she would have blushed. But it was not Manaria. Wrathia simply ignored the comment, heading instead towards the pots.

     Seral moved out of the way, leaving Wrathia to bring the water to a boil.

     Pedri watched interestedly, his hand under his chin. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but remained silent.

     Wrathia tied her hair up and rolled out her shoulders, loosening her limbs. Concentrating, she felt fire crackling inside her, the lava in her heart roiling faster. She raised her hands, outstretched towards the pots. The metal glowed orange, and steam could be seen rising from them. The water started to simmer, and little sparks licked the sides of the pots, never burning the tablecloth.

     The water was just about to reach its boiling point when a large crash was heard from downstairs.


	2. An Arrival of Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected to get so many hits, so thank you to everyone who's reading.

     Wrathia paused, the blaze around her hands dying down to a few wispy flames. The water in the pots bubbled gently, the only sound in the silent room. From floors below, they heard the noise again, the sound of the palace doors slamming shut. A fanfare emanated from the floor, along with the loud beating of Karo drums.

     Seral scratched his head as Wrathia lowered her hands and sat down. Her fingers curled around the armrest, her claws making the faintest of scratching noises against the black metal. He took a step towards her "Your Highness-"

     "Yes, Seral. Your services will be unneeded for the time being."

     The old Vengess nodded but remained, uncertain as to what he was meant to do.

     Wrathia waved a hand. "You are dismissed." Her face remained neutral as he left, closing the door softly behind him.

     Pedri blinked, watching as a series of contorted emotions flashed through Wrathia's eyes. "Shall I leave too, princess?"

     Wrathia remained silent, now focused on the cooling water. Sitting up straight, she regained her regal composure.

     "Pity we couldn't finish the lesson. Now I'll have to find a way to fit it into my schedule."

     "Schedule, Highness?"

     Wrathia smirked and turned to Pedri. "Haven't you heard? There's to be a wedding."

\---

     "It's an honour to bring together our two kingdoms. We hope for much prosperity in the future."

     Wrathia shifted in her seat, watching as the Karo queen bowed again. The prince stood behind her and bowed as well, though Wrathia could tell he that he didn't feel as happy to be here as his mother was. She tilted her head to the side, looking past the visiting royalty to see the guards they had brought with them. While they had agreed to put down their weapons before entering the palace, she could tell from their build that even her own warriors would have some difficulty subduing them if need be. Wrathia watched interestedly as the prince looked around, taking in all the opulence of the throne room. Though the Vengess royalty spent little time here, it was always kept up to the standards of the rest of the palace, cold, harsh and beautiful. All around them was dark metal and marble, with thick draperies lining the windows and walls. Several weapons and sets of armour were kept on display, though from experience, Wrathia knew the swords were blunt and unusable. However, to the eye of the visitor, all of this, along with the three wide thrones that sat elevated upon the dais, could look very imposing. Several lanterns hung above were lit and cast an ethereal glow around the room, giving the Karo queen and prince long shadows.

     The sound of silence brought Wrathia back to attention, with all eyes on the room upon her. She looked forward as the prince walked up the steps to greet her, his face void of emotion. She stood, as she had been told that to meet royalty from Karo sitting down was a grave insult. Though, she regretted it as soon as she realized that her parents had remained seated the entire time.

     "It is a pleasure to meet you," said the Corval with a faint Karok accent, all of his consonants too harsh.

     Nodding, Wrathia replied in flawless Karok. " _An honour to meet my new husband. _"__

     The prince looked taken aback, obviously stunned by her reply. " _I wasn't told that you would be able to speak Karok, your Highness._ "

     The king cleared his throat, silencing the room again. "I'm sure our guests are tired and would like to rest. _Kana Corval, Kala Nevra _, my servants will show you to your rooms."__

     "Thank you, it is most appreciated," said the queen, bowing again.

\---

     "Please, your Highness, raise your arms."

     Several servants bustled around Wrathia, swathing her in cloth. To represent the bonding of the two peoples, her father had notified the staff that she would be wearing the traditional wedding costume of a Karo bride. In response, Prince Corval had been told to wear the wedding armour of the Vengess. It made sense on paper, but Wrathia had found that to her disgust, Karo brides wore a sickening amount of silk and jewelry. Not to mention the horribly inconvenient underskirts and heeled shoes. She grimaced and swore under her breath as another servant draped several layers of lace over her shoulders. This not only added to her obvious discomforted annoyance, but in the event of combat, restricted her arm movements. It made no sense, Wrathia mused, to wear such limiting fabrics. How was one supposed to protect themselves if one could not even lift their fucking arms?

     Behind her, a Karo servant that had been brought with the prince twisted her long hair into complicated knots, holding it in place with bejeweled combs and pins. This was a large mistake on the Karo's part as her rising vexation was making the golden jewelry hot to the touch, singing the unsuspecting fingers of visiting hairdressers. The final piece was a sheer veil that was draped across her brow, restricting her vision. Wrathia growled, causing some of the Karo helpers to step back, leaving only the Vengess ones unfased and sympathetic. The princess fumed, feeling cramped and exposed at the same time. She had not been allowed to take any weaponry with her, and had been scolded when they had discovered the dagger tucked into her underclothing.

     There was a knock at the door, and Seral stepped in, quickly followed by Marok and several guards. They lined themselves by the doorway, all standing at attention. Seral walked to Wrathia and handed her an ornate white box. Wrathia opened it, revealing fragrant, dried leaves and a white flower with petals just starting to brown around the edges.

     "The traditional wedding tea of Karo, Highness," murmured Seral. "And might I say, princess, you look prepossessing."

     Wrathia snorted. "I'm wearing a hulking dress with too much frill to look menacing. I daresay that I look like a perfect Karo bride."

     "Indeed," said Seral, grinning.

     Outside, the sound of drums started up, and the rising voices of singers could be heard. Seral's smile fell. Straightening his breastplate, he outstretched a hand to Wrathia. "Are you ready, your Highness?"

     Wrathia nodded blankly, stepping down from the stand. She closed the box with a click, and held it at her side as she reached for Seral's hand.

\----

     Wrathia and Corval knelt at the feet of their parents, with Wrathia's dressed in their best armoured suits. Corval's mother sat on his side, her dress looking soft and smooth and completely out of place compared to the ceremonial throne she sat upon. However, Wrathia supposed she looked ridiculous as well. Wrathia poured the tea, which gave off a pale green steam. Once the cup was filled, she passed it to Corval, who in turn passed it to his mother. She took a sip, holding it in both hands. Wrathia watched the queen set the cup down at her side and nodded at her. Getting out a second cup, Corval took the teapot and gently tipped the tea out, filling it without spilling a drop. Once he had done so, he held it out to Wrathia. She took it after several seconds, earning her a condescending look from the queen. Wrathia huffed indignantly, passing the cup to her mother. She watched her mother eye it suspiciously, the queen raising an eyebrow before sipping from the cup. She then unceremoniously held it out to the king, who took a large swig. He coughed loudly before setting it down, nodding at Corval. She and Corval both rose up to a kneeling position, facing each other. As this was the first time she had been able to get a good look at him since his arrival, Wrathia stared through her veil. 

     Though her vision was obscured, she could see his outline and a few basic features. He was younger than her, she knew that, but he stood much taller than she'd originally thought. He looked fairly handsome in the armour he wore, and could see that he had two swords strapped to his back, one of them her own. The drums started up again and Marok walked over from his spot behind the throne. He helped Wrathia stand back up, making sure she didn't trip as they walked down the stairs. Corval followed, until they were at the foot of the throne room steps. Wrathia could hear the voices of the watching nobles intermingling with the drums. She could see Manaria out of the corner of her eye, who waved slightly.

     Marok stood behind her and Corval, his arms outstretched behind them. "My fellow Vengess. It is time for the Courtship Duel."

     Corval stepped forward, his voice carrying through the grand hall. " _My Karo subjects. We will now commence the Swordplay of Union. _"__

     This caused an onset of harsh whispers on the Karo side of the room. While Wrathia could not hear everything they said, she got the sense that most of them were confused.

     Wrathia walked off to the side where several attendants waited. They waved her into a curtained off area, the drums speeding up. She whisked a hand over herself and was changed into her ceremonial combat armour. It was similar to her usual suit, but had decorative carvings all along the arms and back. Around her waist was a tightly knotted sash, with words of luck woven into the cloth. Luck for a long-lasting marriage. And luck, perhaps, for her to be a good ruler.

     She stepped out, and the singing began again, the drums slowing down. She strode over to Corval and the two of them bowed at each other. He reached behind him and pulled both swords out of their sheathes, handing her her own. Wrathia hefted it from one hand to the other, the familiar feel bringing comfort. He got into a fighting stance, and so did she, the small bells on her sash tinkling lightly. They took in each other with analyzing looks, the drums were silent.

     Wrathia felt her heart beat once.

     Twice.

     She saw Corval's arm shift, his muscles twitching. The tip of his sword began to move.

     She charged.

     Their swords met with a clash, sparks flying as they met at the hilt. The prince grimaced, surprised by her strength. Wrathia drew back and leapt to the side where his torso was unprotected and advanced. She watched interestedly as he twisted his body, barely avoiding her blow. She was impressed, most people would be incapacitated by this point. He parried her thrusts, knocking her sword away with a well-timed flick. Wrathia snarled, apparating a few steps to his right. With a wave the sword was back in her hand and she brought it up to meet his. The drums and voices of the singers rose in volume, matching the loud clanging of the two blades. Wrathia swiped forward, narrowly missing the prince's forehead. Corval lunged, aiming for her gut but was knocked away with a powerful kick to the chest. He flew back a fair distance and you could hear the dismay of the Karo people. Wrathia snuck a look at Marok who was hiding a smirk. Corval got back up, his brow wet from exertion.

     " _You fight well, bride. _"__

     Wrathia swung her sword as he ran towards her, their battle becoming a beautiful, violent dance. They stepped forward and back, the effort showing on their faces. Wrathia knew that while she was more skilled than the prince, she did not have the stamina to last much longer. With a last swipe, she rolled backwards, breathing hard. Looking up at her father, he made a waving motion with his hand. She would need to speed things up. Wiping her forehead, she charged one last time, rolling away at the last second. Corval looked down in confusion and watched in slow motion as Wrathia swiped downwards at his arm. He hissed in pain, dropping his sword. Rivulets of blood coursed down his arm as he clutched his wrist, silent, but huffing slowly. There were sounds of panic coming from the Karo guests, with several standing up in concern. The room was frozen.

     The drums stopped.

     Her father was the first to clap, chuckling to himself. Then the Vengess guests began to applaud as well, with some small cheers coming from the back. The Karo people looked utterly disgusted but watched in fascination as Wrathia helped Corval to his feet. She brought their hands together and whispered the words that Seral had taught her, watching as her hand glowed. She looked up at the prince, whose face was unreadable.

     "I will protect you and heal you in times of war," she announced. " _I will keep you safe and well when there is unrest. _"__

     The light seemed to pass from her hand to his, flowing into his arm. The blood stopped dripping and his arm glowed brightly through the armour. He watched in fascination as Wrathia's arm began to drip, his wound now hers. The Karo nobles sat back down, mesmerized by her words.

     "I will share your pain when you are weak, and stand with you when you are strong. _I will stay with you in pain and stand with you in glory. _"__

     A puddle began to form at her feet. "I welcome you, husband."

     Corval nodded, clasping her hand tighter. " _I welcome you, wife. _"__

\----

     "It was an interesting display, I must say, your Highness," said the Karo queen. "If you had told me beforehand, I might have been able to explain to my subjects the ceremonial value of the fight. That way, it would not have worried so many of them."

     The king laughed. "I'm sure they know now that it was all for show. Perhaps next time they will be able to familiarize themselves with the traditions of the Vengess."

     The queen smiled coldly, taking a sip of her wine. "Indeed. Though I may ask what the significance truly is? If I know anything about your family, I know that such displays of combat always have a reason."

     "Yes, yes, reasons," the king waved off her question.

     Wrathia's mother interrupted. "It's a matter of political power, _Kala. _"__

     The queen raised an eyebrow, her proper title was only used when speaking of diplomatic matters.

     The Vengess queen continued. "Our people are warriors. We pride ourselves on the sanctity of warfare. The Courtship Duel is a representation of the dominant partner. In this case, our daughter."

     The Kala frowned. "Are you saying that my son is incompetent?"

     The king moved to speak but the queen put her hand atop his to silence him. "Not at all. It is simply a matter of who will lead the people. My daughter is an accomplished warrior, and the Vengess will look to her in times of weakness. She will be a strong ruler. And pardon the comment, but your son is not of these galaxies. Even if he had won, it would have been difficult for him to completely gain the allegiance of our people."

     The Karo queen said nothing, only took another sip of wine.

     "Anyways," said the king, standing up. "It's time we retired. I'm sure we are all exhausted after such an eventful day. If you would excuse us, _Kala, _we will be off to the chambers."__

     The Kala nodded. "Thank you again, Highness, for agreeing to the marriage. I'm sure we will thrive in our union."

     The king and queen walked side by side, nodding to the guards they passed.

     "Ria," said the king. "Are you worried about the bond?"

     The queen shook her head, taking the king's hand. "I am fine. Though I wish you had told the Karo queen about our part of the wedding. I can tell she's upset about it. Especially since her son lost."

     "There is no shame in losing," said the king. "It's simply a representation of strength. Wrathia will just be the dominant leader. Her scar will signify that."

     "Just like yours does?" the queen teased. She raised her chin, her tone becoming serious. "Ehtar, you don't think it could be a mistake, do you?"

     The king rolled up his sleeve, his scar standing out against the dark tone of his skin. "I trust that Wrathia will know what to do. That's all we can do at this point."

     The queen looked over at her husband's arm, and watched as the scar began to fade into the skin, disappearing completely.

     "She holds the power now," murmured the king. "All we can do is wait and see what happens."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody catch the names of Wrathia and Pedri's parents? They're a pretty important ELEMENT. (I make myself laugh.)
> 
> [EDIT] Since we're already way past this chapter, I might as well just put it here. The names of Wrathia and Pedri's parents are Ehtar, Ria, Feri and Trewa.
> 
> Just like the demons in the comic, who represent the seven deadly sins, I wanted to incorporate a theme of group continuity. Meaning their names are just anagrams of the four elements.
> 
> Anyways, back to the fic.


	3. Torches and Chandeliers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since the last update. I've been dealing with some personal stuff and school is a pain as always. Once again, thank you for reading. I never expected so many people to see this.
> 
> Also, WHOA, cranking it up a rating.
> 
> Comments and kudos are truly appreciated.

     The night breeze was cool against her skin, and Wrathia watched triumphantly as shredded pieces of cloth flew off in the wind. Remnants of lace and silk fell slowly to her feet, only to be swept off with another gust. That was the end of that dress. 

     Clad in only her undergarments, the princess ran along the rooftop, her feet making soft padding noises along the terra-cotta tiling. She inhaled deeply and quickened her pace, footholds like old friends underneath her toes. She leapt and danced and made a fool of herself, panting heavily when she eventually fell against the edge of her window. She tilted her head back with a huff, watching her breathe intermingle with the starlight. Focusing, she looked down at the city, where bright lights flickered and loud music played. Torches lined the streets and though the hour was late, people were bustling everywhere. When the only daughter of the king was wed, there was cause for weeks of celebration. Below, she could make out the forms of dancers, their long shadows swaying against the sides of buildings. She stood, peering closer to the edge.

     In the courtyard, many nobles were arm in arm, chatting merrily and drinking wine. The Karo were especially easy to pick out, as their women wore large, airy dresses and jewelry that glinted harshly in the firelight. Directly beneath her was the vague forms of a Vengess couple, and peering carefully, Wrathia could see that they were Lord Feri and Lady Trewa Nanezgani, Pedri's parents. They stood out from the rest of the guests, as they stood motionless, watching the movements of everyone before them. Every so often, Lady Nanezgani would lean over to her husband and whisper something in his ear, making him nod in agreement. Intrigued, the princess leaned closer, her torso hanging off the edge of the roof. She couldn't make out any words, but realized that the two of them were cataloguing each Karo guest.

     The couple looked upwards, and Wrathia started, her claws gripping into the tiling. Normally, she wouldn't worry about people seeing her so far up, but the torches cast so much light into the gardens that she sunk back into the darkness. Waiting momentarily, she moved back to see that Pedri had joined his parents, standing between them with his hands behind his back. His armour glinted, looking almost violet. He spoke quietly with them, and they nodded, returning back to their odd whispering. Wrathia watched him walk back inside and was about to return to her own room when she saw a small piece of lace swaying gently down in front of her face. Cursing, she reached out to grab it. Much to her dismay, the wind blew it out of her grasp and she watched as the cloth drifted down onto Pedri's shoulder. Puzzled, he looked upwards into the darkness and Wrathia could swear that he smirked. Frowning, she withdrew from the edge, her fiery eyes watching as the young Vengess took the lace and tucked it into his breastplate.

     The princess scrambled back onto the ledge, an unwarranted sense of panic filling her gut. She slid open the window and clambered in, far from her usual graceful self. Just as she locked it, the door to her room opened.

     Corval entered, looking around before his eyes settled on Wrathia.

     "Princess, I-" he started, before widening his eyes in shock. His cheeks flushed, he cleared his throat, bowed, and shut the door.

     Wrathia wrinkled her nose in confusion before realizing that the prince had just seen her in her undergarments, no doubt breaking several Karo etiquette laws. She considered pursuing him to apologize, but decided against it.

\---

     Pedri walked quietly through the crowded great hall, nodding to the people he passed. A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks and he absentmindedly reached for a glass. He took a sip, letting the sweet wine sit on his tongue before swallowing. He made his way to a sitting room located off to the side of the palace, which he knew would be empty during such an occasion. Finally reaching the looming doorway, he waited for the two guards to open it for him. They bowed slightly at the waists and waited for him to enter before closing the doors behind him. Pedri took in his surroundings.

     Like the rest of the palace, the room was darkly beautiful, with draperies and weaponry hanging on every wall. The walls were lined with several bookshelves and Pedri picked one, setting his glass down on a nearby table. He skimmed through the text, the pages flipping loudly in the quiet room. In here, the sound of drums still echoed, but it was faint compared to the outside. Pedri returned the book and picked up his glass again, swallowing the rest of the wine in a mouthful. He set it back on the table, where it would eventually be whisked away by the housekeepers. He strode over to the wide windows that took up an entire wall of the room and watched the swirling cosmos light up with starlight. He preferred it like this. The torches in the courtyard seemed garish in comparison to the celestial bodies that shone just out of grasp. They were more beautiful in the sense that they would always seem brighter when you surrounded yourself with darkness. There was probably some sort of poetic, psychological bullshit that could be applied to the thought, but Pedri couldn't be bothered. He glanced backwards at the door to make sure it was closed before fishing the lace out of his armour. He lifted it it, smirking to see how the edges were frayed, and even slightly burned. Obviously the princess was not as happy with her dress as the queen had said.

     Yes, the princess. Pedri reflected on his classmate for a moment. She was a magnificent Vengess, that much was certain. To the eye, that was obvious. However, her personality both confounded and amused the young lord. She was blunt, quick to anger, spiteful, determined and courageous. A perfect Vengess ruler, she would no doubt have a long and powerful reign over the galaxies. There were certain to be interesting developments regarding her marriage as well, and Pedri looked forward to watching from the sidelines.

     The door opened behind him and Pedri returned the cloth to its previous place, turning to face the visitor. He watched silently as the king walked in, motioning for the guards to close the door and lock it behind him. With an unceremonious thump, the king dropped into a large chair and faced Pedri, a slow smile on his lips.

     "Little Lord Nanezgani, how are you this evening?"

     "Majesty," said Pedri, bowing low. "I'm fine. Congratulations on your daughter's nuptials. I hear that she won the Courtship Duel?"

     "She did," the king chuckled. "And has a wickedly large scar now because of it. All the better, it proves character."

     "What kind of character, your Majesty?" asked Pedri, moving to lean against the desk.

     The king smiled wryly. "Strength. Isn't that the point of anything in this damned galaxy?"

     Pedri smiled, watching as the king adjusted his armour. "Your Majesty, should you not be in bed with the queen at this late hour? You're in charge of commencing the celebrations again in the morning and will need your rest."

     The king waved him off. "I couldn't sleep. Besides, we have more important matters to attend to, don't we?"

     Pedri raised an eyebrow. "Would you not prefer them tomorrow, Majesty?"

     "Now," the king said simply, bringing out his pipe. With a flick of his wrist, he lit it, and inhaled pensively, the dark smoke floating towards the ceiling in tendrils.

     Pedri stepped forward and sat in a chair across the king, his elbows on his knees. He waited.

     The king took one last breath before drawing the pipe away, blowing a large cloud. "So, little lord, what are the whispers of the palace these days?"

     Pedri watched the purple haze above his head spin and swirl. He looked back at the king.

     "You were right about Lord Quilex. He was seen at the docks last week with new shipments of the opiates. Money was exchanged."

     "Ah, Noro. Always up to no good." The king blew smoke from his nostrils. He thought for a moment, before settling on a decision. "I want him executed."

     "Yes, Majesty," stated Pedri. "There are rumours of rebellion on Valaro in the Northern galaxies. There's complaint about unfair pay for miners and metal refineries."

     The king sat up straight in his chair, his face becoming more serious. "What's their current salary?"

     "Fifty-six percent of the average."

     "Raise it by ten," said the king. "Take it from Quilex's account. It's not like he'll be needing it anyways. Anything else?"

     "Your Covert Enforcement Squad."

     The king laughed loudly. "Marok? Does he need more funding? My wife told me her brother could be ruthless, but I didn't expect him to be so upon the royal vaults."

     Pedri shook his head. "Actually, Majesty, there is word that he is planning on retiring."

     The king shook his head, smiling. "Ah, sneaky bastard. I knew this would come up one day."

     "What are your thoughts, if I may ask?"

     "Let him. He's been excellent at his job and I commend him for being able to stay on top of things for as long as he has. Though, I will need him to find a replacement suitable for the work."

     "Shall I tell him, or would you prefer an official notice?"

     The king barked out a laugh. "No need. Marok would probably prefer it to be quieter anyways. Simply let him know by word."

     "Yes, Majesty."

     "Is that all?" asked the king, raising an eyebrow.

     Pedri nodded. "That is all my parents have found. Any new items of business will be brought to your attention immediately."

     "Then you're dismissed," said the king. "Thank your parents for me. Remind them that Lord and Lady Nanezgani are welcome to dine at my table any night."

     "Of course," Pedri smiled. He made his way over to the door, knocking once to let the guards know to unlock it. As he listened for the telltale clicking noises, the king outstretched a hand to him. "One more thing."

     Pedri rested his hand on the door, closing it as it began to open. "Yes, Majesty?"

     The king sat back, his eyes hard. "Watch that _Kala_. Make sure she's..." he trailed off.

     "Not a threat?"

     "Exactly."

     "Yes, Majesty."

     The king turned away to face the window, watching a star go shooting past. "Keep her safe."

     Pedri stood, confused. "The _Kala_ , Majesty?"

     "My daughter."

     Pedri stood still, watching as the king took another deep breath from his pipe. The smoke mingled with the stars, making ethereal clouds. Silence filled the room and Pedri moved to open the door, the handle cold brass in his hand. The guards looked on, and Pedri turned back to the king who sat motionless in his chair, watching the space outside.

     "Yes, Majesty."

\---

     Wrathia sat in her sitting room, waiting as her adjoining bedroom was cleaned by the maids. She could see the stars outside, and knew by looking at the clock that is was the early hours of morning. The fireplace radiated heat through the room, not that it needed to. For her especially, the fireplace was more for aesthetic than anything else. Wrathia ran her fingertips along the edge of her dressing gown, the cloth worn soft. There was not need for anything soft or comfortable in her life, but that didn't mean that she didn't enjoy it. Just not in the billowing quantities of Karo that she was so unaccustomed to. She moved backwards to lie down on the couch, listening to the flutters from next door. Once the sheets were changed, she could go back to her room, which would now be known as the new wedding room.

     When she was little, she remembered going into the previous wedding room. Really, it was just a pompous title for the bedroom of the king and queen, but it had all the opulence one could expect from the bedchambers of royalty. Her mother had lifted her up onto the high bed, and laughed when Wrathia had tried to reach the chandelier suspended above, her little hands grasping at the lit crystal. Obviously she could never have reached it, but back then, she had truly believed that if she'd tried hard enough, she could touch it. All that had changed as she got older. Gone was the kindness and care that she received when she was small. Her parents grew detached. Professional. Not unloving, but never truly in contact. Emotion was not for a grown Vengess. Only for children. And she was not a child anymore. So, simple as that, they went from parents to groomers. They spoke formally, dined across the table from each other, and every so often they would exchange words over her lessons. That was it.

     Wrathia remembers being picked up by her father and swung around overhead, laughing when he dipped her downwards. In the gardens, they would go for strolls and when Wrathia saw the stars, she tried to reach for them, just like the chandelier. Her father had lifted her as high as he could, and at her demand, stood atop one of the stone benches in order to reach the fiery diamonds that were suspended in the night sky. She never could reach them, but every single time they went, she asked anyways.

     Not that she could ask anymore, she mused, crossing her legs. It had all stopped when she had grown out of her juvenile years. 

     And as said before, she was not a child anymore.

     The maid came in, bowing towards the reclining Wrathia. She smiled shyly, and spoke. "Princess, the wedding room is ready."

     Wrathia nodded to the maid.

     Smiling, the maid left, bustling away with the old linens from the bed. 

     Wrathia stood. She walked to her room and looked at the bed, her red sheets replaced with white. She walked alongside the bed, running her fingers along the mattress. The cloth seemed stiff, unworn. Nobody had lived in or known these sheets. They had no story. They had no softness.

     There was a knock at the door. Wrathia stood up straight, straightening her robe. Her face dropped any sense of dreaminess and became cold, emotionless. She cleared her throat.

     "Come in."

     The door opened slowly and Corval stepped in, looking awkward and out of place. He still wore his armour and carried a bag behind him, no doubt with his clothes and other things. He watched Wrathia cautiously, double checking - she presumed - that she was decent.

     "Princess," he bowed deeply, a little too deeply for someone of his equal. Wrathia nodded, her face still emotionless. "Prince."

     " _Wife,_ " he mumbled. Wrathia breathed slowly, remembering her words. " _Husband._ "

     "I, um," the prince paused, stumbling over his words. "I am sorry for coming in earlier. It was a..." 

     He thought for a moment. "Large mistake."

     Wrathia caught herself smirking slightly. " _Would you prefer to speak in Karok?_ " The prince nodded vigorously.

     " _I'm terribly sorry,_ " said the prince, scratching the back of his head. " _But I don't know your language as well as you know mine. I'm honestly very ashamed._ "

     " _Not a problem,_ " Wrathia replied. " _New languages are difficult to learn._ "

     " _You didn't seem to have that much of a problem with it,_ " said Corval, raising an eyebrow. " _I hope you don't take me for a fool._ "

     " _If I had, we certainly would not be married right now._ "

     Corval spoke softly. " _And yet, we are._ "

     Wrathia blinked. " _So you must not be much of a fool then._ "

     Corval chuckled softly, " _I should hope not._ "

     The two fell silent, watching each other with careful eyes. The seconds dragged on, each of them waiting for the other to initiate conversation. As the silence grew, the prince set the bag down. As much as she hated to admit it, Wrathia was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Corval looked at Wrathia, his eyebrows creased. " _You know the purpose of this visit, correct?_ "

     Wrathia nodded solemnly, any previous airs of camaraderie gone. " _It is our wedding night._ "

     Corval nodded. " _And together, two rulers must produce an heir._ "

     " _A legacy to carry on the bloodline._ "

     The two of them stood steadfast, neither one wanting to be the first to move to the bed.

     The prince nodded to himself, reaching down for his bag. " _I need to change out of this armour. Please excuse me._ "

     Wrathia nodded, temporarily relieved, but still on edge. She waited for the prince to walk into the bathroom, where he locked the door behind him. Warily, she slunk over to the bed and pulled back the covers, freshly ironed and stiff beneath her fingers. She undid her robe and let it fall to the ground, not bothering to fold it and put it away. Taking a breath, she climbed into the bed and pulled the blanket over her chest. She stared at the canopy above. It was dark, and it blocked out the moonlight coming from the skylights. Everything seemed empty and her first thought went to the chandelier above her parents bed, and how her mother must have put it there for her first night. Anything would have been better than the empty expanse that loomed above her.

     The door to the bathroom opened and Wrathia's heart began to race. She remained as still as possible, forcing herself to keep her eyes open. For the first time in a while, she wished that she could be with her parents.

     She could not make out Corval's face in the darkness, but felt his hand reach out for her shoulder. She flinched, and he drew it back immediately as if she was made of glass. She straightened her face and reached out for him, taking his shoulder and drawing him towards her. She could hear him breathing and felt the mattress bow slightly under his weight. Though she scolded herself, she closed her eyes. It's not like he could see her anyways.

     That night, when she was being lifted up, Wrathia pretended for a moment that she was in the gardens, reaching for the stars like when she was little.

     And after, when he tensely held her against his chest, awkward and silent, she kept her eyes closed and thought of what it must be like to extinguish a star.


	4. A Blind Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, angst and flashbacks, oh my!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting, guys, I appreciate it.  
> Warnings for minor drug usage and gore (ish?) in this chapter. This one is pretty dialogue heavy, just a heads up.

_"The anatomy of our Karo cousins is not dissimilar to our own, princess." The Lady Sorceress flipped the page over Wrathia's shoulder, skimming the book to find the information needed. "Though the largest difference does remain the power source."_

_The small princess frowned, her expression souring. "I don't see how this is relevant."_

_The Lady Sorceress smiled gently, waving her hand to close the book. It flipped shut and Wrathia found her stool turning to face her teacher. The Vengess brought her fingertips up and pressed them against her chest, causing soft, orange light to cascade off her body._

_"Princess, you know where Vengess sorcery roots itself, correct?"_

_Wrathia nodded, bringing her own hand up to her chest. The room began to fill with warm light as the princess spoke. "It comes from our core. Our very being."_

_The Lady Sorceress whispered. "It comes from somewhere inside." She stood, holding out her hand. A tiny spark danced between her fingers, weaving in and out of her bracelets. "That is why it is immeasurable. The only person who can truly know what you hold inside, is yourself."_

_Fascinated, the princess held out her hand. The lady tilted her head and passed the dancing fire to Wrathia, watching as it climbed up her arm and nestled in her hair._

_"We are volatile and emotional when we use our powers. That is because of how we control them. The Karo, however, do not have the same mode of control as we do."_

_Wrathia reached into her hair and pulled out the fire, now a small ball of flame that send tendrils of smoke into the air. "Where do they root their power?"_

_The Lady Sorceress tapped her forehead. "An third eye, princess. An eye into their mind and soul."_

_"The concept of souls confuses me," stated the princess, dropping the fire to the floor. In a flash, it extinguished itself, leaving nothing but a trail of ash. "How can they control their powers properly if it's rooted in something so frail as a skull?"_

_"That is something that we are not extremely educated about," the older Vengess frowned. She crouched and stood at eye level with the princess, who in turn raised an eyebrow._

_"If we aren't educated, why do I need to know? Truly, if it isn't relevant, why must I learn about how people in a far off galaxy control their souls?"_

_The Lady Sorceress sighed. "I have a premonition that one day, you will need to know."_

_"Very well," Wrathia scooted her chair back to the table and opened the book. "If I need to, I will."_

_"Excellent, princess," laughed the Vengess. "Your outlook on this is admirable."_

_Wrathia shrugged, peering closely at a diagram of a Karo skeleton. She paused when reaching a certain paragraph, scratching at it with her claw. "It says that Karo power is 'diametrically opposed' with the mind. What does that mean?"_

_The Vengess faltered in her confidence, taking a seat beside the princess. "It means that it is incompatible with the body."_

_Wrathia grumbled in frustration. "How can the power be incompatible if it originates from the body itself?"_

_The Lady Sorceress brought her hands into her lap. "Karo culture is not based on sorcery, as such it is rarely used. That served to cause evolutionary paradox. They have some of the most powerful capability in all the galaxies, but it is stifled by their mortal forms. All the power stored up through the ages is bubbling and bursting at unfathomable levels, kept at bay by self control and an abhorrence for usage.."_

_"Making it unusable? I don't understand the effect."_

_The Vengess shook her head. "It is absolutely usable, but in unsafe and unpredictable proportions. After spending so long without an outlet, Karo power has become fraught with problematic energy. The third eye must remain closed."_

_"So they can't use sorcery?" The princess rubbed her eye, looking out the window._

_"They can." the Lady Sorceress turned the page of the book and tapped the page, bringing Wrathia's attention back. On the last page of the book was a dark illustration in scratchy ink, depicting a Karok._

_Or, at least, what was left of one._

_His body was mangled and twisted, bones jutting out at horrible angles and dark, black ooze dripping from the gashes along the side of the neck. His face remained intact, but was contorted into a terrifying expression of pain and anger, jaw locked open in an eternal scream. Up until this point, the princess had only ever seen paintings of Karo royalty in the library, all of them with the third eye closed._

_Here, the third eye was open, revealing what looked like a blind, red orb. It shone dully with the life force behind it drained. A small crack ran along the cornea, and it seemed to glare with a dark fury comparable to the wrath of an ancient god. Wrathia blinked, taking the book into her lap. She stared, then slowly raised her head to look at her teacher._

_"They can," the Lady Sorceress repeated. "They can use their power. And it would be the most horrible and powerful spell that you would ever see unleashed. Only once, though."_

_Wrathia sat up straighter._

_"They relinquish their control only once, princess. They let centuries of stifled power out at one time, deafening in its triumphant roar. It bursts from the eye, and does what it is told, perfectly and violently. Then it becomes too much. They eye is not enough, the keyhole that a storm must pass through. The power finds a way to escape and takes over, breaking apart the body, breaking apart the mind."_

_"Do they die?"_

_The Vengess nodded solemnly. "Most certainly."_

_The princess swallowed, and raised her chin. "Have you ever witnessed it?"_

_"Only once," said the teacher, a hushed voice escaping her parted lips. "A long time ago."_

_"Should we be afraid? Won't they come and attack?"_

_The Sorceress shook her head. "No. It would be too risky. They would not make such a sacrifice anyways, as the most powerful Karo are the royals themselves. Foot soldiers would not want to commit suicide by default, and they would not wish to send their only living heir."_

_"The prince? The Kana?" Wrathia squirmed in her seat, grossly interested. "He would do this? Not his mother?"_

_"The queen was born with a blind eye, princess. She could never do such a thing."_

_"But the prince? Could he?"_

_The Sorceress sat silently, not answering._

_"Could he?" Wrathia repeated._

_The Vengess shook her head, her lips upturned into a smile. "He is but a babe, still in his cot. We must wait and see."_

_"Could he bring an end to the empire?" Wrathia stood, her hands gripping the book._

_The Lady Sorceress chuckled, resting a hand on the princess' shoulder. "Perhaps. Though I would not worry about it now. It would be too foolish of them to sacrifice their prince, when they could easily be overpowered by our forces. You are safe."_

_You are safe._

\---

     It was morning.

     Wrathia sat silently, sheets gathered around her chest as she watched Corval sleeping beside her. She could truly see his youth when he slept, as his face grew softer, more trusting. She could see his face perfectly now, and stared interestedly at his forehead.

     The eyelid was closed. That was obvious. Wrathia noted the small ring that pierced the bottom of the eyelid, serving to keep it shut. She had not noticed until now, the little gold loop looking like a glowing teardrop that fell from his brow. Why was it there? Could it possibly be that children had it at a young age to keep them from using the power until they grew old enough to understand?

     Perhaps she was overthinking it.

     Her eyes fell to the side of his face, his dark skin looking starkly out of place on the white pillowcase. His ear held several studs and jewels, though much more understated than she had expected from someone of Karo upbringing. Wrathia turned to face the window, watching the rising sun reflect off of the dewy grass outside. Silently, she moved the sheets away and stepped out of bed, wincing as she moved her leg.

     Fuck, she felt sore.

     The princess lifted her robe from the ground and put it on, tying it tightly around her waist. Taking one last glance back at the prince, she padded over to the bedroom door and opened it, stepping into the hall. It was still fairly early, as there were no servants bustling around. She closed the door behind her and turned to make her way to the library when a sneeze interrupted her thoughts.

     Whipping her head around, she saw a guard standing at his station, mortified to be noticed. He cleared his throat and regained his composure, staring blankly into the distance as if he had never seen the princess. Wrathia cursed internally. She had forgotten that there would be guards outside.

     Shaking it off, she continued to walk to the end of the hall, avoiding the eye contact of the doorkeeper when he moved to give her entrance.

     Once inside, she stood silently, arms at her sides. Books lined every wall and the high ceiling towered above like the sky itself was her roof. Broken shards of sunlight refracted off the marble floor, making odd patterns on Wrathia's toes. She sat slowly, not wanting to move very much. Bringing her knees up to her chin, she sat in the middle of the library, looking very small in comparison to the rest of the room.

     She simply sat, quiet, watching the mottled patterns of light climb their way up her legs.

     She stayed that way for a long time.

\---

     Once the door had shut, Corval opened his eyes, pushing himself up on his forearms and resting his back against the headboard. She had been watching him, so he'd kept his eyes closed. He brought his hand up to his forehead and touched his eyelid, fiddling with the piercing that held it shut. He got out of bed and walked over to his bag, opening a pocket on the side. Reaching in, he pulled out a small drawstring bag and a pipe, carved out of ivory. He opened the bag and the familiar scent flooded his nose. Inside were several dried blooms, their purple petals crumbling slightly. The florem mortem was to deal with his anxiety, though it had become something of a habit to him now.

     Corval picked up his things and walked over to the window, unlatching it with one finger. As it swung open, he gripped his things and hoisted himself onto the ledge, making his way to the roof. The sun warmed the terra cotta tiles and he set his bag down next to him, lighting his pipe with a match. He crossed his legs and inhaled deeply, breathing thick purple smoke out through his mouth.

     Last night, he and the princess had attempted to make a child. Corval's mind grew hazy as the flowers began to take over his head. He knew that if she did not carry, he and his new wife would need to attempt again. It wasn't that it had been an unpleasant experience, but it was probably one of the most awkward and unneeded things he'd ever done. Corval grimaced, remembering how Wrathia had flinched when he touched her.

     He felt disgusted with himself.

     He sat up straighter, and brought up the pipe again, keeping it in his mouth as he rummaged through his bag. He reached the bottom and pulled out a beaten old book, something that his teacher had given him before he left.

      _Mastering the Vengess Language, Volume Two_

     He opened it and blew out smoke, turning to the first page.

\---

\---

     Pedri lifted his fork and began to eat.

     "What did the king say?" Lady Trewa waved her hand, floating the water jug over from the other side of the table.

     "Really, Trewa, it is too early for this, let him eat," Feri grumbled, his head resting on his hand while he picked at his eggs.

     "Your mind is just muddled from all the wine last night," answered his wife, turning back to Pedri. "Did he ask for anything specific?"

     Pedri shrugged, adding more food to his plate. "He said to watch the _Kala._ That's it. I think he's worried about the princess."

     "Princess Wrathia? She's entirely capable of taking care of herself," Feri laughed. "Did you see her at the courtship duel? The Karo boy didn't see it coming."

     The Lady Nanezgani ignored her husband again. "The Karo queen? Anybody else?"

     Pedri shook his head. "Nobody. I think he's suspicious of the _Kala_ because of some unknown reason. It really wasn't my place to ask."

     "No, of course not," Trewa tilted her head. "It is, however, our place to find out."

     "He should probably tail the princess," mumbled Feri, his mouth full of bread. He looked at his son. "You have classes with her, and you're about the same age. You don't mind, right Pedri?" The lord continued to eat, looking at his wife. "Anyways, we should get going, Marok says that they're executing Quilex in an hour and we need to be there."

     The Lord and Lady Nanezgani pushed themselves away from the table and bustled off, leaving their son without a goodbye. He continued to eat, his cutlery's noises echoing in the empty room.

     "Will you be trailing the princess, then?"

     Pedri, startled, jerked his head upwards to see his grandmother standing in the doorway. "Pardon?"

     The old Vengess woman made her way over to the breakfast table, hobbling over to a chair and slumping over with a disgruntled noise. Being over a thousand, she sometimes had trouble walking. She continued.

     "Will you follow the princess? Keep her safe from the Karo scum?"

     "It wasn't meant like that, grandmother," Pedri pushed his plate away. "This has the potential to be a serious issue."

     "Bah, it's always had the potential to be a serious issue," the old Vengess waved him off, taking a piece of bread. She bit into it, gnawing at the crust with her dull fangs, worn smooth from years of use. "I remember when I married your grandfather, the huge fuss that happened. Everybody thought he was trying to kill me."

     "He was Karo, you were Vengess, it was understandable." Pedri raised the pot of soup and sent it across the table, letting his grandmother dip her bread in it before setting it down. Satisfied with the texture, she managed to get a mouthful before she continued to speak.

     "You have his eye, you know?"

     Pedri brought his hand to his forehead and touched his third eye. "Yes, I'm aware."

     "Don't sass me, boy."

     Pedri smirked, "I would never think of it, grandmother."

     The old Vengess smiled and brought over a bowl, ladling soup into it. She sipped from it and smacked her lips thoughtfully. "I agree though, that _Kala_ is suspicious, being so open to a marriage with the enemy."

     "Hardly, the war ended hundreds of years ago. We can barely call them enemies anymore."

     "And yet, we are still apprehensive of a marriage between the two galaxies," she smiled, draining the rest of the soup from her bowl. "What does that tell you about our political stance?"

     "Shouldn't you be in bed?" Pedri watched her stand up again, picking up her cane and handing it to her. She took it, and leaned heavily upon it to stand upright.

     "Just because I can't walk doesn't mean I don't crave intelligent conversation," she scoffed. 'I'm not senile yet, you still have to put up with me, Pedri."

     "It's my pleasure, grandmother." Pedri stood and walked around the table, holding out his arm. The old Vengess took it and the two began to walk back down the hallway. Once the two of them reached her room, she kissed his forehead, right on his eyelid.

     "Be careful, alright? Don't leave me with your parents, they make for horrible conversation."

     "Yes, grandmother." He opened the door and let her walk inside, watching her hobble past with a heavy limp. She turned one last time to say goodbye, her smile dreamy. "You have his eye, you know?"

     "Yes, grandmother," Pedri nodded. "Be careful on your leg, grandfather wouldn't want you to injure yourself again."

     "Ah, yes," she nodded, walking back to bed. "Where is that rascally Karo? He was late to dinner yesterday."

     "He's on his way," Pedri nodded towards her. "You'll see him soon."

     "I haven't seen him in a long time," the old Vengess creased her eyebrows, settling back under the covers. "Where has he gone?"

     "I don't know, grandmother."

     Pedri watched her close her eyes, making sure she fell asleep before closing the door again. He walked back to the dining room, passing a mirror on his way. He stopped, turning to face the reflective glass. Peering closely, he brought his face forward and focused on his forehead, clenching his jaw in effort. Slowly, his third eye slid open, a dull, white membrane covering the pupil. If he covered both of his regular eyes, he could see nothing. He fore-eye was blind, useless. He shut it and started to walk again, making his way back to the dining room. Servants bustled past him with dirty plates and he stood to the side of the wall to give them enough space.

     He hoped that today would be a peaceful day for his grandmother, that she would finally be able to sleep for more than a couple hours. The nightmares had gotten worse recently, along with her leg. Even now, after years of living with her, he still awoke sometimes to hear her screaming for his grandfather to shut his eyes.

     He had no idea what it meant, and he didn't plan on asking.


	5. A Verification of Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY ITS ON TIME
> 
> Be forewarned, Pedri is not in this chapter.  
> Dates for new chapters and any other writing on this account will be announced on my tumblr,
> 
> http://spineandsanguinity.tumblr.com
> 
> (Also, if you have any questions about the fic or want to clarify something from previous chapters, I'll answer asks there as well.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

     The king walked slowly down the hallway, admiring the view from the windows of the palace. The sun held high and the courtyard below was filled with bustling courtesans and merchants. Behind him, several of his ministers bustled wordlessly in the other direction, leaving the meeting hall with arms full of maps and official documents. The marriage, now finalized, would be recorded in the timelines of both families, along with the relevant dates. The king reached the end of the hall and was about to turn when rushed footsteps echoed through the passageway.

     "Your Majesty!"

     The king stopped, still facing the other direction. "Yes?"

     A Vengess much shorter than himself ran to his side, panting heavily as he crouched over. The king waited silently, watching the servant compose himself.

     "Your daughter, the princess," he coughed, straightening his back. "She was not present at her verification this morning."

     Ehtar sighed heavily. He started to walk again, waving off the attendant. "It will be sorted out."

     "Yes, Majesty," the Vengess said. Gathering himself, he began to jog back in the other direction, his heavy panting becoming more laboured as he disappeared into the distance. The king continued his leisurely stroll, his pace slow as he made his way to the bedchambers.

     When he finally got to the looming archway above the sleeping hall, he motioned for the guard to leave. Knocking on the door, he listened for the sound of bustling and the click of the door unlatching.

     A muffled voice came from within. "Ehtar, this had better be something important."

     The king turned the latch and opened the door, making sure that it shut behind him. He ducked to avoid hitting the red fabric that hung from the ceiling, gently brushing floating candles out of his way. He stood a good distance from the curtained bed, picking up a bowl of rose petals from a side table. Looking at them quizzically, he huffed and crushed the bowl in his hand, incinerating them in his grip.

     "Ehtar," Ria called from behind the curtain, her voice becoming more annoyed. "What is it?"

     "Wrathia was not present at her verification this morning." The king fell into a chair at the edge of the room, crossing his legs. "I thought that perhaps you would know why that is?"

     "Really Ehtar," the queen snorted. "Is this really the best time? Can't she just do it now?"

     "Well, we are missing two important components," the king waved his finger in the air, opening the window shutters in a fluid motion. "We need our daughter, and the Lady Sorceress." He continued to wave his hand, though perhaps a little more vindictively, filling the room with light. The once dusky bedroom became its true colour, the cloth unraveling midair and burning up. The candles extinguished themselves and floated one by one into their box.

     There was a long silence.

     "Ria."

     The queen groaned in exasperation. "Fine."

     There was more rustling and a bedraggled sorceress emerged from the bed, her hair tangled and her robe hanging loosely off her shoulders. The queen followed, her naked form walking past the unfazed king to close the shutters, squinting in the sudden change of light..

     "Do the guards have any idea where she is?" The Lady Sorceress ran her fingers through her hair, drawing it up and out of her face.

     "No, but then again she's always been good at hiding." The king stood, walking past his wife and kissing her cheek as he swept out the door. "I'll send her to you, just prepare whatever is needed."

     The sorceress chuckled and kissed the queen, smiling gently. "I'll be back soon."

     Ria nodded, waving her off. "Go tend to my daughter."

     The sorceress laughed. Bowing, she left the room, leaving the queen in the silent, cold bedroom. Grumbling, Ria returned to bed, snapping her fingers to extinguish the last candle. She would not let Ehtar forget this.

\---

     "Wrathia."

     The princess turned to see her friend standing behind a marble pillar, looking at her worriedly.

     "Manaria? What is it?"

     "Are you alright? The king is looking for you." She walked over and sat next to the curled up princess, angling herself towards her. "You need to go to your verification."

     "Ah," Wrathia tilted to the side and let herself fall over, her face pressing against the cool marble. She sneered. "So that's what he wants."

     "You don't have to go," said Manaria, nudging her cousin with her foot. "I mean, you could just hide here for the rest of the day. Seral is the only one that comes here, and even then only when you have classes."

     "I don't want to go, but I'm going to anyways."

     Manaria stood, holding out a hand to the princess. Wrathia took it and pulled herself up, standing at eye level with the other Vengess girl.

     "It shouldn't hurt." Manaria tilted her head to look out the doorway. "Are you hungry? I passed a breakfast cart on the way here."

     "Not really," Wrathia said, shaking her head. "Honestly, I just want to get out of the palace. There's too many fucking people."

     Manaria made a huge act of looking around the library. "There's nobody here."

     Wrathia chuckled and lightly punched her cousin's shoulder. "You know what I mean."

     "It'll be over really quickly," Manaria added, with more energy in her voice. "We can go to Valaro after, if you want. My father's airship is in the dock and he won't need it until tomorrow."

     "That sounds good," said the princess, a genuine smile on her face. "I'll find you after."

     Manaria nodded, watching as Wrathia left the library. 

     "In the meantime, I need to go see if I'm with child."

\---

     The Lady Sorceress chuckled when the princess entered, pulling over a stool for Wrathia to sit on. Corval stood at the side, looking very out of place among the spellbooks and drawers full of ingredients that stood stacked as high as the ceiling. Though most Vengess sorcery was performed through the strength of core energy, to truly specialize and create measurable rituals involved the usage of many different things. Wrathia sat on the stool, her legs bunching towards her body due to the shortness of the seat's legs. Avoiding eye contact with Corval, she nodded to her teacher.

     "You may begin."

     The Vengess woman nodded, a slight smirk on her face with the obvious formality that she'd experienced. She knew that Wrathia only spoke that way because the Karo prince was present. Never the matter. She floated a tray covered in containers over from the edge of the table and let it settle in the air next to a large metal bowl. She lifted a handful of dark, green leaves from one of the jars and crumbled them into dust, whispering something in an odd language that Wrathia and Corval didn't recognize. Her hands dipped into a small packet on the tray and added an iridescent powder. She mixed it in with her fingertips, watching as it glowed softly. Walking over to a woven bag hanging from the ceiling, she brought over a strange looking fruit that Wrathia recognized from the marketplace. The sorceress cracked it open, her claws digging into the skin as she squeezed the juice into the bowl. She tossed the remnants aside and flicked her hand at the concoction, bringing it into a fist as it began to seethe and bubble. She brought her hands together and drew little circles around the edge, bringing up small flames that blackened the metal and burned a cold, harsh blue. The sorceress smiled, bringing the fires down with the slow lowering of her hand. The mixture inside looked burnt and scorched, the green salve having odd, unrecognizable pieces floating on top.

     "Princess," she said, floating the bowl over. "Please open your robe."

     Wrathia remained still, turning only to look just past Corval's face.

     "Pardon me," the prince turned to face away, his arms at his sides.

     The sorceress looked confused, but her face cleared of emotion when Wrathia untied the waist and unwrapped the cloth from her torso. The Lady Sorceress dipped two fingers into the bowl and smeared the mixture onto the princess' stomach, creating a pattern with sure, practiced strokes.

     "Excuse me," the Vengess woman arched her fingers from Wrathia's chin, drawing a line down to the very edge of her undergarments. 

     "Please stand."

     Wrathia released the edges of her robe and stood, pushing the stool out from beneath her with the side of her foot. She watched her teacher back away and waited expectantly.

     "Arms away from the sides of your body, legs slightly apart," the Lady Sorceress reminded her, guiding the princess through the actions. "Just like the practice."

     Wrathia nodded, trying to mask her anxiety with boredom. She focused all her energy into her heart and breathed slowly, willing time to slow down. She felt the hair on the back of her neck raising, and she could see Corval's hand form a fist at his side. Perhaps he was anxious too. She shook her head, and cleared her mind of all distractions, feeling all of her hair start to float in a fiery tumble at the nape of her neck. She looked down and could see the floor smoking beneath her feet, the volcanic rock glowing brightly. Her legs shone brightly, the light traveling up through her body and reaching her forehead. She did not feel like she was burning, only that she was pleasantly warm. She breathed slowly, feeling powerful and strong. She was brought back to reality by a feeling of cold hands touching her skin. The princess looked down, finding that the salve that had been put on her skin was burning wildly, yet refusing to fall off. She gritted her teeth and focused the heat to her stomach, watching as all of the radiance that flowed through her veins inched towards the centre of the symbol. The green turned completely black, and ever so slowly, it began to peel off and fall to the floor.

     Wrathia felt a dull pain grow in her gut, and balled her hands into fists as the pain sharpened. All the lights in the room extinguished themselves and her hair fell, all the light finally pinpointing at the very bottom of her stomach. The sorceress leaned forward, watching nervously. Wrathia watched the light shoot from her body, spewing forward in a blossom of fire. Her stomach now completely bare, the princess watched the light etch itself into her skin, feeling like it was clawing at her insides. She grimaced, but remained calm.

     Taking a step forward, Wrathia brought her hands to her belly and pressed them gently into her body. The pain stopped. She felt the flames slowly slip away and removed her fingers, looking as the small image of an egg shone brightly through her skin. Below, all her veins and organs could be seen as shadows, and the pulsating, fiery beat of her heart absorbed the last of the energy, leaving nothing but a dark burn shaped like her unborn child, and a darkened room.

     The Lady Sorceress snapped her fingers and all the lanterns in the room lit up again, burning just as brightly as they had before. Wrathia tied her robe hurriedly, watching Corval turn around in confusion.

     He raised an eyebrow.

     Wrathia nodded.

     The sorceress scrabbled to write something on a piece of parchment, furiously scratching away with an excited look on her face. "This is good news, princess. I will take the results to your father." She moved towards the doorway, pausing momentarily to nod to Corval. "Celebrate, majesties. You have an heir."

     Wrathia lifted up her hand to call to the Vengess woman, but was met with a closed door. She scowled. Turning her head, she saw Corval bring out a bag that she had not seen earlier, and reach into it. He made eye contact with her and she straightened her posture, meeting him with dignity.

      _"We have an heir."_

     Corval walked towards her, a mixture of fear and reverence in his eyes. He cleared his throat.

     "Con.. Congratulations. Wrathia." He spoke softly. He took something out of the bag and held it out, revealing a small, blue tin.

     Wrathia took the tin, turning it over to look at it. She continued in Karok. _"What is it?"_

     "It is a..." Corval paused, mulling over his words. There was a long pause.

      _"Corval?"_ Wrathia spoke again. _"You don't need to force yourself to speak Vengess."_

      _"Wait... Fuck!"_

     Corval widened his eyes in fear. _"I'm sorry, highness, for cursing-"_

     "What am I holding?" Wrathia interrupted. _"Kana?"_

     "It is for your _pregnancy_ , princess!" Corval sputtered. He sighed in resignation and dropped onto the stool, his bag resting in his lap. " _It's a tea that is usually given from mother to daughter, for when she has an egg. It contains seashells from my galaxy, so that the child may have a strong shell. It's tradition._ "

     "Oh." Wrathia stood, shocked. " _How... how kind._ "

     " _You don't need to drink it,_ " Corval said quickly. " _I just thought that it might be something you'd like._ "

     Wrathia opened the gift, peering inside. Dried plants and flowers were nestled inside a small, mesh bag, surrounded by what looked like crushed pieces of seashells. The smell of the seaside wafted up, along with the fresh scent of an open field. She looked up and saw Corval with his head in his hands, muttering to himself.

     " _Thank you._ "

     Corval looked up. " _Pardon?_ "

     " _Thank you. That's what you say, right? In Karo, when someone does something nice for you._ " Wrathia closed the tin and put it on the table. " _We do not have anything like that here._ "

     " _You do not?_ "

     Wrathia shook her head. " _It is not part of our culture._ "

     Corval smiled halfheartedly. He stood. " _You don't need to take it. I just thought that it would be better than the jewelry that we had originally intended to give you._ "

     Wrathia snickered to herself. " _Well, I melted all the other things you brought, so I think this was a much better idea._ "

     "Good," said the prince. He put his hands behind his back, looking tense. " _Princess, I am sorry that we had not met under lesser circumstances._ "

     " _What do you mean?_ "

     Corval stepped closer, looking at Wrathia. Though much taller than her, he still felt small. " _I do not wish to harm you. Or make you feel uncomfortable._ "

     The princess remained silent, so he continued.

     " _I- I know that we do not know each other very well. Or, very much at all,_ " he looked away, gripping the straps of his satchel tighter. " _But I do not wish for us to hate each other. I would despise being married to someone who hated me._ "

     Wrathia shook her head. " _I don't hate you._ "

     " _And I do not hate you. Yet, there is a wall between us that is far from gone, and was only fortified by the... actions of last night._ "

     The princess wrinkled her nose, making Corval take a step back. " _I'm sorry, I've crossed a line, I'll stop._ "

     "What is your point, _Kana_?"

     " _My point is_ -" the prince paused, picking his words carefully. " _I hope that we can be..._ friends." Corval nodded to himself, looking up to face the princess. He moved to say more, but closed his mouth when met with the stone, unmoving face of his wife.

     Wrathia stood, not saying a word. She blinked once, before lifting her chin. " _Do you not wish for me to be a conquest for you? Something that you've achieved? Some fuckable thing for you to use to bring trade to your galaxy?_ "

     Corval violently shook his head. " _No! Why would you think that-_ " he stopped, lowering his voice. " _Why would you think that?_ "

     The princess shrugged. " _It would not have surprised me, nor fazed me if that were the case._ "

     " _That is a horrible thing to say._ " The Kana motioned to Wrathia's abdomen, his voice low. " _You carry my child. That is a beautiful thing. Albeit, the terms by which it came to be were dubious at best... but it is there. You may reject it if you please, as it is your own choice, but to know that you willingly hold the key to peace between our people is amazing in itself._ "

     He slowly moved forward. 

     " _I do not ask to be your lover, your partner, your king or your consort._ I only ask to be your friend."

     Wrathia's face was devoid of emotion, tilting her head to take in the prince. She kept a straight face, a stern brow and a cold, emotionless gaze meeting the prince's speech. The _Kana's_ face fell, and he moved to walk past her towards the door. His hand on the latch, he opened it and moved to step outside when he heard a small noise. Turning, the prince saw his wife shaking. Worriedly, he stepped backwards, and was met with a surprising sight. Wrathia's composure slowly cracked, her lips parting as she laughed. She clutched her sides and slumped into a chair at the side of the room, giggling loudly as Corval looked on, extremely confused.

     " _And how long did you have to practice that?_ " The princess wiped away tears, still unable to compose herself.

     Corval looked shocked, but smiled and scratched the back of his head his head. "A... long time."

     "Excellent." Wrathia smiled a genuine smile. Calming down, she stood, as to greet Karo royalty sitting down was a grave insult.

     Her hand outstretched, she grinned winningly."Welcome to my kingdom, Prince Corval. I am Princess Wrathia Bellarmina."

     Corval took her hand and shook it, as was custom in Vengess culture. " _Greetings, Kaya Wrathia Bellarmina. I am Kana Corval Ralækeith. I look forward to being married to you._ "

     Wrathia's face softened, and her hand fell to her side."I welcome you, husband."

     " _And I welcome you, wife._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrathful Pride/PedWrathia shippers, do not worry, next chapter will be full of lovely, sarcastic back and forth between the two of them.


	6. Whirlpools and Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pedri's a fucking knucklehead,  
> 2\. Wrathia's tsundere as fuck.
> 
> Onwards we go! Comments and Kudos are appreciated so much!

     The two linked arms, and Wrathia walked with Manaria to the doors of the airship. The night air was crisp and slightly breezy, with the sound of rustling grass in the wind. Their boots ground into the dry earth, and the pair wordlessly boarded the ship, the door latching shut behind them. Manaria nodded to the pilot, who in turn started the engines. The machinery below their feet hummed and growled, and the ship began to rise, exhaust pipes blowing out the ground around them into a cloud of dust.

     Manaria, holding Wrathia's hand, led her to the viewing room, her pace quickened once out of the guards' sight. She tilted her head back, her eyes questioning. "So? Are you..." She paused, still keeping a steady pace as her feet hit the metal grating, but unsure of how to continue. "What happened?"

     "It was fine," said Wrathia, shrugging. She spoke uneasily. "I carry."

     Manaria raised her eyebrows. "Congratulations?"

     Wrathia nodded, looking off. "Yes, I suppose congratulations are in order."

     Her cousin smiled sadly, stopping. The pipes that lines the walls bubbled, steam shooting out of a vent. The air was filled with the sound of working turbines and generators, the air humid with water vapour. Manaria lifted the princess' chin. She smiled again, only this time, genuinely. "Well, then we'll celebrate together. We'll go to Valaro, stay the night, and you won't have to worry about the kingdom, your husband, your egg, anything. I promise."

     The princess chuckled. "You sound optimistic, as always."

     Her cousin shrugged, moving to open the pressure-locked door. A large, metal wheel on the front turned slowly, air releasing through the sides.

     "I have to be. I mean, without me, you'd probably be locked up in your room, brooding and wasting your time."

     "Wasting my time?"

     The two stepped into the room, a large, rounded viewing port embedded in the wall. Plush benches were pushed against the sides, a large table located in the centre. A door opposing them led to the bathroom, the rest of the wall surrounding it covered in hunting trophies and odd trinkets. Manaria flopped onto a bench, pressing a button next to her head. A wide panel by the light switch slowly rose, revealing different cuts of meat and drinks. She turned back to Wrathia, a glass in her hand.

     "Yes. Wasting your time." She sipped thoughtfully. "You've always been so stuck on rules and tradition. You need to loosen up. The empire's not going to fall if you let down your guard once in a while."

     "Coming from the one who nearly burnt down the Forests of Wrightar, I think I'll pass."

     Manaria tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling. The screen above projected their location, and the celestial bodies that they were passing. She swirled the glass, turning to look back at the princess. "When was the last time you were on board?"

     Wrathia sat next to her, back pressed against the wall. She picked up a bloody, rare piece of meat and bit into it, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Maybe twenty years ago? Whenever you had to get rescued from those pirates. We called up all our war fleets and had to blast off to catch up to that shitty, little ship as it made its way across the oceans."

     "That was twenty years ago?" Manaria laughed. "Maybe we'll see them again on Valaro."

     "Maybe," Wrathia shrugged, swallowing the rest. "Then I'll cut off the captain's other arm."

     "Fun," Manaria drawled. She stood, pressing her palms onto Wrathia's knees. She brought her face closer, face excited. "I was serious, you know. Once on Valaro, you can do whatever the fuck you want. They literally don't care."

     "Anything?" Wrathia smirked.

     "Absolutely." Manaria brought her forehead towards Wrathia's, touching. "And the first thing we'll do once we get there-"

     "Once we get where?" There was a flushing noise and Pedri stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a washcloth. He threw it in the trash bin, moving to bow towards Wrathia.

     "Princess," he said, bowing deeply. He nodded "Lady Manaria."

     Manaria stood, her face filled with disgust. "Lord Nanezgani, what possible reason do you have to be on my ship?"

     Pedri leaned against the wall, craning his neck to look upwards. The motion tracker on the ship blinked quickly, moving slowly along the map. He looked back down, making eye contact with Manaria. "That, my lady, is between me and the princess."

     Wrathia snorted. "I know nothing about this."

     "Well that, princess, is an unfortunate thing, as I was told that the king would notify you about the situation at hand."

     "My father sent you?" Wrathia scoffed. "Does he think I'm incapable of taking care of myself? The bastard had me married literally two days ago."

     Pedri shook his head, laughing under his breath. "If he chose not to tell you, I don't believe that I hold the power to enlighten you."

     Manaria crossed her arms. "So what? We're stuck with you? For absolutely no reason?"

     "It would seem so," Pedri tilted his head. He looked at Wrathia. "Though is it _really_ such a bad thing?"

     "Yes." Manaria nodded vigorously.

     "Do you have to be in here with us?" Wrathia stood. "Can't you do your monitoring from the engine room?"

     "As inconvenient as it is, princess, I am obligated to remain in your vicinity for the entirety of the trip." He sat down against the far wall, across from the princess and her cousin. "So I will ask, once again, where are we going?"

     Manaria fumed, her skin flushing red.

     Wrathia answered, her eyebrow raised inquisitively. "Valaro."

     Pedri crossed his legs, turning to look out the viewing port. He frowned. "Well, that makes my job a lot more difficult."

     "Good," hissed Manaria.

\---

     The moment that they landed, after over an hour of awkward silence and spite-filled glances across the room (most of them from Manaria), the princess was dragged by her cousin onto the landing strip, stumbling slightly.

     "Hurry," she whispered harshly, jogging past the guards at the city gates. "We can lose him."

     Wrathia looked back at Pedri, who was strolling casually behind them, slowly getting smaller as Manaria pulled her away. Looking forward, she sped up, following her cousin as she weaved in and out of shops, buildings, crowds. The air around them was thick with the smell of spices and cooked food, the crowd bustling with merchants and customers. Exotic birds peeked out from their cages, breathing small puffs of fire and shaking their brightly-coloured feathers. The people around them were dressed in gauzy, flowy fabric, their faces covered by scarves and hats. Wrathia looked down and could see reptilian feet with claws, some with anklets that clinked lightly when they stepped. The sky above looked completely black as the street was entirely lit by fire lanterns and glowing orbs that bounced gently against buildings and down walkways. Manaria ducked into a restaurant, walking past a display of sugary desserts, made to look like icy, crystallized sculptures. They shone under the lamplights and the man behind the counter help one out to Wrathia, saying something in a language that she didn't know.

     "I don't understand." she shook her head.

     The man spoke again, just as Manaria turned the corner. Wrathia sprinted after her, ducking into an alleyway where few people were standing. Seeing that she was following, Manaria nodded and set off again, twisting into the darker, less busy parts of the city. The further they went, the less of the scarf-covered merchants there were. Instead, Wrathia saw strange people, their long hair blue and wispy, like pools of water. They seemed to float as they stood there, peeking out of doorways with shy, interested eyes. They had coral horns from the deep ocean, pointing upwards like antlers on the royal stags, and their skin was tinged like flower petals. One of them, a female, stood against a wall, holding up the edges of her skirt and looking at Wrathia. She stared enviously at Wrathia's cloak, which was embroidered with gold thread.

     "Pull your hood up," said Manaria. "Don't let them see any jewelry you may have."

     "Where are we?" Wrathia said, pulling cloth over her head. She looked around, and realized that many people were now watching them silently, hundreds of eyes looking through windows and doorways.

     "I may have accidentally led us into the brothel district."

     Wrathia turned to her cousin. "And you know it's a brothel district because?"

     "Look at the buildings," Manaria whispered. She started to walk again, quickly and without looking at anyone. Wrathia followed, but looked up at the walls that surrounded her.

     Chipped murals covered the buildings, abstract colours crashing like waves on the white brick. Only a few lanterns floated above, and they flickered, precariously close to burning out. The ornamentation of the homes themselves was minimal, windowsills only with small, hand-painted pots.

     Hand-painted pots. Wrathia looked closer, nearly bumping into another person. The clay pots were blue, and covered in fish motif that seemed so alive that they jumped off the lacquer. Inside were metal coins, different shapes and sizes. In the pot next to it were little paper slips, like tickets, ripped up and thrown in carelessly so that several pieces were on the ground. Wrathia turned to find Manaria, but found herself alone. Swearing, she steeled herself and glanced over her shoulder, to find the person she'd bumped into staring at her.

     The man cracked a slow smile, crossing his arms. His clothes looked expensive, and his blue skin had black tattoos spinning around his arms. His hair was messy, and his eyes like a cat's, gleaming deviously." _Wayeh, belle._ " He looked her up and down, his eyes raking over her in a way that made her fist clench. " _Kavona marjent?_ "

     "Excuse me?" Wrathia could feel herself slowly going on edge.

     He laughed, saying something else, too quickly for Wrathia to hear. He looked up, past her, and spoke again, running his fingers through his hair. " _Eyah mo, kavona marjent por kava_ Vengess?"

     Wrathia twitched, her hand clenched at her side. She looked behind her and saw a girl standing in the doorway. She was partially naked, her body bruised, pulling a dress on as she shook her head at the man. She too looked like the others in the area, a Covetess, Wrathia now realized.

     The girl frowned. "Vengess _ne madacha kobordelier sie._ "

     The man became angrier, pointing to Wrathia. He raised his voice, his words, while incomprehensible to the princess, were getting dangerously loud.

     The girl raised her hands to calm him down, looking at Wrathia helplessly. "How much?"

     Wrathia, startled by the sudden understanding, turned her head. "What?"

     The man started to walk closer to the girl, his eyes lustful and annoyed. She tensed and moved closer to her door, her voice strained. "How much for him to sleep with you?"

     "Do you know who I am?" Wrathia stepped closer, her hand on her chest. She glared at the man. "Do you have any idea the grave insult that you've imposed upon me?" She stepped closer, her hood falling off to reveal her hair, now blazing and glowing with emotion.

     " _Belle_ Vengess," he smiled, reaching out for Wrathia. He took her wrist, fingers digging into her glowing skin. He started to pull her closer, his fingers gripping the edge of her sleeve. Without warning, he brought his lips to her ear, whispering under his breath, his accent thick and barely intelligible. "I know... exactly what you are,-

     "A whore."

     She snapped.

     Wrathia ripped her arm out of his grip, swiping her claws at his eyes. He stumbled back, yelling in pain as she kicked him in the groin. The button of her cloak was torn off and she elbowed him in the face, eyes furious when he moved to hit her back. She dodged his blow, and knocked his arm away, pushing him so hard that he fell onto the street. She moved to straddle his chest, knees digging into his ribs as she gripped his throat. She rained blows on his face, punching him repeatedly with her fists, leaving burns in the shape of her knuckles. He started to bleed, arms pinned to his sides as he howled in pain, any bare skin singed by the heat of Wrathia's fury.

     People burst out of their doorways, looking for the source of the cries. Yet, once they saw what was happening, they waited apprehensively, fearful of the fiery, bright girl that was beating the living shit out of some man on the ground.

     Wrathia stood, a single droplet of blood running down her cheek, coming from an unnoticed wound. She spat angrily at the man.

     "I am Princess of the Vengess family, and I could have you burned alive and beheaded for what you have said."

     The man shuddered and spat out a tooth, blood coming from his eye. " _Ka_ Vengess _ne belle, zey KORR._ " He got up, holding onto a wall for support. " _Eyah!_ " he shouted. " _Kakoreh ad!_ "

     There was a large commotion as different doors opened, thugs coming out of separate buildings, pulling their clothes on. They cracked their knuckles, dark blue skin covered in tattoos and thick, metal rings. The Covetesses moved back in, windows shutting and little pots brought back inside, leaving only bare windowsills with dust rings in the shapes of the clay containers.

     The men surrounded Wrathia, their statures dangerous and angular. Wrathia growled, her eyes now glowing bright yellow. She opened a clenched hand and burned her cloak, a ball of fire hovering around her fingers. They stood, unmoving, both sides ready to jump.

     "Damn it, princess."

     Wrathia looked back, whipping her head to see Pedri walking up quickly. He moved through the shadows, stepping in front of Wrathia, scythe unsheathed. Speaking slowly, he stood tall and spoke in the strange language, his voice scarily quiet.

     " _El ka Princhessa_ Wrathia Bellarmina, _ah_ Vengess _rayal. Alann ey kor..._ " He raised his scythe, blade sharp and stained with unidentifiable rust. He brought it up to the neck of the group leader, pushing it forward to draw blood. The man stumbled back, his anger now changed to awe and insurmountable fear. Several of the men dropped to the ground, kneeling in front of Wrathia and repeating a mumbled, worshipful phrase, fingers digging into the dirt and rocks.

     " _Ded._ "

     Pedri raised his hand, causing the man in the centre to rise into the air, his hands scrabbling at his neck as if he could somehow make Pedri let him go. He cried out in pain as Pedri closed his hand into a fist, causing the man's head to burst with a sickly crunch, his brain and innards splashing onto the people below. His body burst into flames, and Pedri let go, letting the burning corpse fall back onto the rest of what was once the man's group. They screamed, pushing away and running off down the street, horror on their faces as they scraped burning flesh and blood off of their clothing.

     Wrathia remained, stunned. She looked up at Pedri, who turned around. "What did you say to them?"

     "Nothing that you wouldn't have agreed with, princess."

     Wrathia was about to answer when she heard a quiet crying coming from behind her. She and Pedri looked to find that the Covetess from before was sitting on her steps, skirts clutched in her hands as tears fell from her eyes.

     "Was that... someone important to you?" Wrathia wrinkled her nose, completely abhorrent to the idea. "Are you alright?"

     "That was my watcher," said the girl. Her dress sleeve began to fall and she pulled it back up again, covering the mottled bruising on her shoulder. "He was supposed to take care of me."

     "Well he wasn't doing a very good job."

     Pedri looked at the princess, clearing his throat. Wrathia groaned. She spoke again.

     "But, that's not what's making you upset..."

     The girl shook her head, and stood up, her eyes cast downwards. She looked the same age as Wrathia, and she curtseyed awkwardly in front of her, soft hands shakily gripping the edges of her ripped dress. Standing at her full height, she even looked slightly taller than the princess. "He brought me my customers. Without him here, I don't think I'll be able to-" She stopped, choking on her words. "I won't be able to work." She coughed, smiling bitterly through her tears. "Not that I think he didn't deserve his fate." Her hair floated in a fan behind her, the watery whirlpools now twisting faster. She stood, wiping her eyes, her face hardening.

     "Would you like to buy me for the night?" she looked at Pedri. "Princess? Perhaps you?" She stepped towards Wrathia, her figure full of innocence and submission. "It will not cost you very much."

     Pedri stepped back, his composure broken. "No, I-, I can't-"

     "I need to find a girl," said Wrathia, stepping in. "My cousin. She looks like me, a Vengess. Would you be able to help me find her? I'll pay you for as long as it takes."

     The girl nodded, a small smile appearing on her face. "I'd be happy to help you, _Princhessa._ " She walked back inside, and brought in her money pot, closing the shutters. Wrathia could see that inside was dirty and grimy, and she watched the girl pick a long piece of cloth up from the mattress. The girl wound it around her body, throwing the excess over her shoulder. A second scarf was brought from out of Wrathia's view, and the girl used it to cover her head, her mouth, and left nothing but her eyes, blue hair flicking out from the edges, still moving like water.

     The city grew darker, and somewhere a clock tower chimed. It was late, and the few lanterns that were in the streets started to slowly extinguish. Wrathia floated one over and held it, her hands keeping the flame from going out. From below, her face was lit with a soft iridescence, and she scowled when Pedri looked over at her repeatedly.

     Finally, the girl came over, slipping on a pair of worn shoes that were by the door. She held a second lantern on a stick, raising it as she went down the stone stairs. It gave off a soft, blue shine, and she watched it carefully. She nodded to the two of them.

     "We will go look for your friend now."

     She walked into the alley, leaving a cool breeze behind her that smelled like the ocean. Pedri tailed behind, followed by Wrathia. They moved wordlessly, their steps echoing in the empty street. The wind started to pick up, and dry leaves blew along the gutter, tumbling past the princess' feet. She walked faster, to keep up with the girl. She could feel a chill coming on, especially since she'd incinerated her cloak, so she focused on her core, bringing warmth into her magma-filled blood. Her skin turned orange, and she cast off the slightest bit of light herself, holding the lantern tighter to her chest. 

     Pedri looked down. "Princess, are you cold?"

     Wrathia shrugged him off, fingers gripping unintentionally. The delicate paper began to tear under her claws, so she let it go, gently pushing it into the air. "I'm fine."

     She turned to look at the girl's back, focusing on walking behind her, following her blue light. 

     "You know, I didn't need your help."

     He smiled, the expression looking odd on his face. "I know."

     The group turned a corner, the lantern bobbing merrily in the darkness. Wrathia looked down as she walked, her pace slowing as she lagged behind Pedri. She could feel her cheeks getting hotter, and she couldn't figure out why.

     She hoped they'd find Manaria soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact for the people who want to know, while Valarian (Valaro) language is still gibberish, I used different elements of French and Japanese to make it up. So, if you caught some vaguely similar words from those two languages, good for you!


	7. The Hunt for Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pedri just can't catch a break, damn.
> 
> Does this count as a crack chapter? 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you so much for sticking with me for so long, guys, and to new readers, welcome to the shithole that is wrathful pride prequels.

     It was deathly quiet, and the king stalked along the forest floor, his bare feet making no noise despite the dryness of the grass. The red stars that winked above provided minimal light, so he closed his eyes, frozen in place. He craned his neck to listen to the woods, and he breathed deeply. He lifted his arm, spear balanced carefully in his grip and waited, silently.

     Then, all muscles tensing, he jumped forward and shot it into a bush.

     There was a loud squeaking noise and the king jumped forward, yanking the spear out of the branches and pulling up a large boar, its head limply held to the side. Hefting it into one arm, he pulled the weapon and tossed it to the ground, the wood clattering loudly against a rock. He grinned and gripped tightly onto animal's legs, swinging it over his head.

     "I got one!"

     There was the sound of large, leathery wings flapping above and the queen descended, atop a large wyvern that snorted indignantly as it settled onto the ground. Behind her, a small, cerulean darter followed, its streamlined body like a knife in the sky. The king raised the boar over his head again, smiling widely at his wife.

     "On the first try too! I told you my hearing was fine."

     "Honestly, Ehtar, you're going to scare off all the animals." The queen dismounted, patting the snout of her dragon and walking to pick up the spear. "We've only just started, and you've already begun to discard your hunting materials."

     "I can use my hands!" The king watched as attendants on service beasts ran up, throwing his prey to the closest one. The Vengess servant caught it and turned backwards, loading it into a large wicker basket tied to the back of the pack lizard. The animal's tongue flicked out and it tilted its back to accommodate the weight, spreading its wide feet apart and breathing heavily.

     The darter walked up to the king, resting its head on his shoulder. Absentmindedly, the king scratched behind its ears, causing a rumbling, purring noise to resonate through the dragon's throat.

     "Where's the _Kala_?" asked Ehtar, looking up. The rest of the hunting party began to join them, other lords and ladies dismounting from their winged beasts. He continued. "Was she not following?"

     "Forgive me, sire," said one of the servants, bowing. "But, the Karo queen felt ill and wished to retire to her chambers."

     "Odd," said the queen. She walked closer, her arms crossed. "She seemed so interested in the hunt. Even asked for a tour of the stables, did she not, Ehtar?"

     The king nodded. "It must have been something she ate."

     "Perhaps, sire," the servant agreed, nodding. "Though she sends her best wishes, and hopes you enjoy the evening without her."

     The queen pursed her lips, fingers resting on the tip of her chin. As the servant retreated, she looked to her husband and spoke in a hushed voice. "This is rather suspicious, don't you think?"

     "She's always in her chambers," said the king. "I don't think she's ever left the palace since she got here."

     "You have the Nanezgani clan watching her, right?"

     The two fell silent as an attendant walked past, carrying a torch aloft as he gestured for others to follow. A small group came behind, toting baskets of food and drink to set on the ground. Once they began to talk, organizing the platters along the riverbank, the king answered.

     "Yes, and their son is with Wrathia, I made sure of it."

     "That Pedri boy?"

     "Yes, their one and only."

     The queen nodded, turning inward as a group of noblewomen passed, chittering unintelligibly. "He's trustworthy. Though I know that Wrathia and Manaria will hate being followed."

     "I know," the king looked up at the palace, barely visible in the distance. Above the faraway treetops, the west tower was brightly lit, and he could detect shadows moving in the window. The Kala was there, though he could not figure out what she was doing.

     "No matter, we'll continue." The queen reached behind her, adjusting her quiver of arrows. She snapped her fingers and her wyvern trotted over, bending down as she mounted it in a swift, practiced motion. The king let out a low whistle and his darter flew through the air, causing the torches to flicker as it landed gracefully on the riverbank. The king sat down on the saddle and motioned for the rest of the party to do the same.

     Smiling, any sense of unsureness was shaken off in favour of visible diplomacy.

     He raised his arm, the dragon flapping its wings and rising into the air.

     "Let the hunt begin!"

\---

     Manaria groaned inwardly, her pace quick on the cobblestone street. Her hood was pulled tightly around her face and her cloak fluttered out behind her, the dark material blending in with the shadows. Whatever her father's plan was, she hoped that it had worked.

     And, from the screams that echoed through the streets and the smell of burning flesh that wafted through the air, it probably had.

     She made her way to the library, a large, fortified building on the hills of Valaro. The people that passed her now were all scholars, their wizened, old faces wrinkled with years of studying and academic politics. They nodded to her as they passed, acknowledging her but not truly paying attention. Manaria liked it that way. She made her way to the entrance, crossing the drawbridge. Her feet pounded on the old wood, seeming too loud in the building. She got the the doors, which were barred with iron. An old, Karo guard dressed in black robes raised his hand slightly as she stopped, holding it out. Manaria could see that he too was hunched over and weakened with age, his post less of a precaution and more of a ritual. Sighing, she dropped her hood back and let it fall, her hair springing out.

     "I am Lady Manaria of Ombe, son of Marok."

     "Oh, 'ari!" the guard reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of spectacles. "I haven't seen you here in ages."

     "Vana?" Manaria looked him up and down, squinting. "Fuck, what happened to you?"

     The Karok clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Such language for a noble, how plebeian of you."

     "No, seriously though," Manaria tilted her head. "What happened? It hasn't been that long since I last saw you." She crouched slightly to reach his height, looking at the Karok's face. His third eye was covered by his hood, his skin pale and splotchy. She swore.

     "Vana, what have you been doing to yourself?"

     "Too much studying, that's what," he chuckled softly. "Don't worry about an old Karok like me, even if I do die, it's not like there's much left for me here."

     "Don't say that," Manaria sighed, straightening her back. She frowned. "Condolences about your brother by the way. I heard about his execution from my father."

     The man quickly mumbled words of ritual under his breath and spit to the side. "May he rest in peace." He looked up at Manaria. "Though, Noro was a slimy, untrustworthy idiot and he knew exactly what he was doing."

     Manaria smirked, her smile faltering as the Karo keeled over, coughing loudly. He hacked, a wet, sickly noise that echoed in the stone archway.

     "Vana, you should see a healer."

     "It's fine." he wiped his mouth. "I will later." He raised his glasses and rubbed his eye, smiling weakly at the noble. "Now, you need to get inside, correct?"

     Manaria nodded.

     "Alright then." The Karok lifted the latch on the door, the mechanics and gears of the finely-tuned machinery clicking and turning out of sight. The door opened slowly, revealing multiple, high balconies along the edges of each level. Ornately carved shelves filled with books were on each floor, the roof so high that she could not see it from where she stood. Desks with little, golden lamps were pushed against each set of shelves, with robed students and scholars hunched over in some of them. Lit lanterns floated around lazily, and a large, marble fountain trickled merrily on the ground floor. Manaria watched a student stick their fingers in their mouth and whistle, causing a girl to poke her head out from a few floors up. Satisfied, they tossed a book into the air, the girl on top reaching past the balcony columns and grasping it in her fingertips, darting back into the recesses of her study floor. Somewhere in the lecture halls above, the sound of softly playing music could be heard, from a music lesson that was probably happening in the university that took up most of the upper space. Manaria felt tiny in comparison to the rest of the building, overshadowed by the utter enormity of knowledge that was held within the walls.

     Vana coughed.

     "Oh, right, yes," Manaria reached out for the quill that he held out to her, signing her name on the parchment that floated in front of her. The two floated out of her hand and back onto the table outside the door. Manaria watched the man slump over in his chair, bundling himself up and huffing loudly. She paused, thinking.

     "Thank you, Vana," Manaria pulled her arm up and created a small, fiery light in her hand, tossing it to the Karok. He caught it confusedly, then hummed happily as he realized how warm it was.

     "It should last you a good six hours," said Manaria, watching interestedly as the Karok pulled it onto his robes, hugging it tightly to his torso. "Make sure you see a healer, alright?"

     "Yes, yes," he laughed. "Now go, I'm sure your father has much to ask you."

     "Yes, I know," Manaria said, waving him off. Pulling her hood back up, she trudged into the library, taking a sharp left at the first set of shelves. The elevator attendant snapped to attention as she walked up, opening the door for her. The gilded, ancient machine doors slid to the right and she stepped in, followed by the man. He turned back, unfazed when she pulled her cloak tighter so he could not see her face. Many famous citizens had attended the university, and he knew by now not to question the identity of its patrons.

     "What floor?"

     "Sky floor," Manaria said. "Quickly please."

     "Right away."

     Manaria could feel herself lifting and watched people pass in front of her, bookshelves and study floors zooming past in flashes of light. The attendant had his arms behind his back, remaining silent as the sound of music got louder. Once the elevator stopped, he pulled the lever, opening the doors again. He waited until she had stepped out, nodding to him as she continued to walk. Manaria could hear the doors close behind her, the clicking and groaning of metal pulleys descending back down to the ground floor.

     She walked past the classrooms, all of them with glass walls facing inside. Nobody cared enough to look at her as she passed, all of them too focused on their respective professors. Manaria followed the music, finally reaching the last room at the end of the rounded floor. Peering down, she could see other students moving around like ants, their bodies tiny from where she stood. Focusing on her task, she walked into the room, gaining a few curious stares from the percussion section.

     An Omben woman at the front held a conductor's baton, waving it gently in time to the music, eyes scanning the orchestra as she moved, humming quietly. The music itself slowly began to turn sad, the string section caught up in the sound of their mournful song. The professor closed her eyes and tilted her head back in forth, only opening her eyes when Manaria tapped her shoulder.

     "Ah, Manaria," she kept moving in time to the music, looking down quickly to see who it was. She pulled her wings in tighter, allowing more space for her to stand closer. "How are you?"

     The music began to mount in volume and aggression, the drums getting louder and the horns harmonizing in each key. Manaria stood on her tiptoes to reach the ear of the Ombe, the species very tall in general. "I'm good. I'm looking for father."

     Nodding, the woman smiled. "He's on the roof. You know how he gets."

     Manaria smiled. "Thank you," she whispered, running off of the podium as her mother raised her hands for the crescendo of the brass instruments. The Vengess girl jogged over to the door at the end of the classroom, opening it and sending a small gust of wind inside. She closed it and walked onto the outside balcony, the dry wind whipping her clothing back and making her squint. She was far above the ground now, and could see the sands below, swirling and smashing against the cliffs violently. She frowned, cracking her knuckles as she began to scale the building, familiar footholds allowing her the scramble onto the roof with ease. She pulled her scarf over her mouth and dropped lower, the wind too strong for her to stand upright. She shuffled to the centre of the circular roof, following the flashing light that spun in the lighthouse. Once she reached the door, she pulled it with all her strength, jumping in as the wind slammed it shut behind her. Brushing herself off, she looked up and saw her father sitting on the ground, his back pressed against the bars of the walls. He looked up and smiled, setting down his book and standing.

     "My daughter," he opened his arms, hands outstretched.

     "I did what you asked," Manaria said, pulling her hood off. "Do you have any water? I'm thirsty."

     Marok nodded and handed her a waterskin, which she bit the cork out of and chugged quickly. He waited patiently for her to finish.

     Wiping her mouth, she handed it back to her father. "The two groups met and they fought. I didn't stay long enough to see the outcome but from what I could sense, he did a good job."

     "Is he worthy though?"

     Manaria shrugged. "I couldn't see what Pedri did. I could only hear your thugs screaming."

     "So they didn't survive?"

     "Most of them did. I think only one of them died."

     Marok shook his head. "Well, they took the risk."

     "You chose inmates on death row, I think anybody would take the risk." Manaria plopped down beside him, crossing her legs. "This feels really shady."

     "It's for the good of all. Besides, it's much more believable when you set it up."

     "Pedri though? Do the Nanezgani's know about this?"

     Marok shook his head. "Only you and I know. Not even your mother. She just thinks I'm here for my retirement party."

     Laughing, Manaria took her cloak of as lumped it into her lap. "Well... aren't you?"

     "I suppose." He turned to his daughter, eyebrows creased. "Are you still sure you don't want the post? Tradition dictates that you have first access to my position."

     Manaria shook her head, watching her shadow move with the spinning light. "I know that there's political problem with me taking your job. You don't need to worry about it."

     "Manaria..." Marok started.

     Manaria raised a hand. "I realize that it's just stupidity and racism and that my bloodline should have nothing to do with my career, but at this point it does." She rubbed her nose. "Besides. I'm still young, and have a lot of growing up to do. I don't think I would have wanted it anyways."

     "This is my fault," Marok rested his forearms on his knees, hanging his head.

     "I don't blame you or mother for this." Manaria spoke softly. "I have no shame about my heritage. I'm proud of my blood."

     Marok bit his lip. He remained silent for a while, but spoke, his voice shaky. "Just-" he coughed. "If anyone ever insults you, tell me so I can behead them for you."

     Manaria laughed, punching his shoulder. "Thank you father, I'll keep that in mind."

     Marok composed himself and lowered his voice, despite nobody being around to listen. "So is the Nanezgani boy a good candidate otherwise? Do you think he could be my replacement?"

     Manaria shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see. You had a Covetess help them, right?"

     "Yes, I paid one. Though in retrospect, it probably would have been easier to use someone I already knew." He took out a pocket watch and pressed the side, the little lid swinging open to reveal the crystal clock face. "It's late. Do you think they'll be resting now?"

     "Probably," Manaria stood. "We should go for dinner after this, we haven't eaten as a family in ages."

     "Yes," Marok jumped up quickly, gathering his things and shoving them into a sack. "Though I think your mother would like it better if I dressed up."

     "Well, you would have to dress _up_ to match with her." Manaria began to walk towards the door.

     "I'm not _THAT_ much shorter than her, ungrateful child!" Marok laughed, darting after her.

\---

     "It's late, we should rest." The Covetess gestured to an inn, the streets now dark except for the light coming from inside the houses. The wind was picking up and Wrathia was cursing her cousin under her breath.

     Where was she? And what the fuck were they supposed to do now?

     "I'm not sure," said Pedri, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can still keep looking."

     "She is likely sleeping somewhere as well," said the Covetess, her eyes the only thing visible through her scarves. She started to walk towards the doors. "If she is as smart and strong as you say she is, I'm sure that she can handle herself for one night in the city. In fact, it will probably be likely that we will find her in the morning, as we'll be well rested and can use the city announcement system."

     "City announcement system?" Wrathia squinted. "What is that? An intercom system?"

     "Valaro is not as advanced as your home planet, _Princhessa_ ," said the other girl. "Our city announcement system is a band of criers and message hawks that we send around the main streets. Though not as fast as your technology, it will still get the job done." She turned to Pedri, blush visible at the edges of her eyes as she spoke with him. "The message office opens at sunrise, so we can go then."

     Pedri nodded, turning to Wrathia. "What do you wish to do, Princess?"

     Thinking for a moment, Wrathia followed the girl. "Let us retire. I'm hungry and weary and Manaria can take care of herself for the evening."

     The trio walked in, the building a lot warmer than the outside, which was dying down in heat as the planet got further from the sun. A few curious patrons sat at the bar, watching the group pass on their way to the main desk. The inside was wooden and dusty, but still cozy. Old, worn chairs surrounded a low table and a couple sat in them, smoking. The air was hazy and Wrathia looked up at the prices, which were conveniently written on a board mounted on the wall.

     "Ten thousand Valarian credits for a single night?" Pedri raised his eyebrows. "That's extremely expensive."

     "Just let me do it," Wrathia said, moving to walk towards the desk.

     "No!" the Covetess cried, reaching out for her shoulder. The bar fell silent, and what few people were on the lower level turned to look, the buzz of conversation dropped to nothingness. They stared at the group, eyes searching them like they had not before.

     "Give her your cloak," whispered the Covetess.

     Pedri frowned. "Excuse me?"

     The Covetess spoke again, her voice harsher. "Give her your cloak." She cleared her throat and hummed quietly, her voice filling the room. People's eyes filled with a soft, pink light and they went back to what they were doing before, distracted by their own actions.

     Wrathia hesitantly put on the cloak, which was warm and smelled like firewood. "What is the meaning of this?"

     "Look at the wall on your left," the Covetess said, tilting her head in the direction of a flag. Turning Wrathia could see that it was the old union flag, from before Valaro was part of the Vengess galaxies.

     "Loyalists," muttered Pedri. "We're in a loyalist building."

     " _Princhessa_ , if they see you, they will kill you." 

     "But what did you just do?" asked Wrathia, gesturing to the distracted people around her.

     "It was only a distraction," said the Covetess. "My job sometimes involves moving around law enforcement, and as such, I know small charms to distract people from what they should not notice." She paused. "But, it only works if you make an effort to not be noticed, so please, princess, pull your hood up."

     Wrathia pulled the hood up and hid her face, looking down at the ground.

     The Covetess continued. "Having a Vengess lord here is already insult enough. If they were to see the child of the conquering king and queen, we would likely all perish."

     "So what are we supposed to do?" murmured Pedri. "Can't we stay somewhere else?"

     The three of them looked outside, but were all extremely disappointed as they saw all the lights in the street go off.

     "Fuck," Pedri spat. "The rest are all full."

     "How can you tell?" Wrathia leaned past him to look out the open window. "Surely there must be at least one that's not full."

     Pedri sighed. "Princess, the hospitality business in Valaro dictates that a full inn must douse their lamps. There is not a single lit lamp on the entire street."

     The princess swore. She steeled herself and gritted her teeth. "If it comes to it, I will not falter to kill anybody who tries to harm me."

     "Believe me, princess, I'd never doubt that."

     "I don't think it needs to get to that point," said the Covetess. She leaned towards Pedri, hand covering one side of her mouth. "There is a reason why the rooms are so expensive, my lord." She dropped her voice, so that even when the two Vengess leaned in, they could barely hear her. Her tone was apologetic, which worried the princess greatly.

     "Princess, my lord, please forgive me for any and all insults I may impose upon the both of you."

     "What?" Wrathia jolted back, but was pulled towards the front desk with surprising strength and an iron grip.

     The Covetess spoke joyfully to the person at the desk, who looked absolutely bored and not at all interested in what she was saying. Pedri moved to stand beside the princess, translating the exchange between the two of them.

     "She says that she needs two rooms for the night," said Pedri, his voice slow as he looked forward, mulling over the words that were rapidly shot off between the Covetess and the person at the counter.

     "Two rooms? But there's three of us," Wrathia moved to pull her wrist from the Covetess' grip, but paused as Pedri continued to speak.

     "Two rooms for the use of... hold on," he moved towards the counter and spoke in the twisting, soft language, gesturing to the pair behind him. The innkeeper looked him up and down skeptically, then nodded slowly, saying some very choice words that caused Pedri to tense up, his shoulders rising. Wrathia could feel herself being pulled forward, and the Covetess put her arm around her, saying something that she didn't understand. Her body language suggested that the two of them were great friends, though she made sure to let Wrathia keep her head down, her hair falling into her eyes.

     The innkeeper grinned darkly, raising an eyebrow suggestively and in such a way that Wrathia felt like punching him despite the obvious language barrier. She watched the Covetess laugh heartily, before what looked like politely declining. Pedri looked extremely uncomfortable and kept his hands at his sides, itching to reach for his scythe.

     Whatever was going on, Wrathia was enormously angry with it.

     "Vengess _pehr_ Covetess _por kabordelier da setka_ ," the man chuckled, speaking Vengess with a bad accent. "Lucky man."

     He handed the Covetess two keys and went back to what he was doing, clearing his throat and opening a book.

     Wrathia yanked her hand out of the Covetess' grip once they turned the corner, her eyes fiery. "What the fuck is going on?"

     "Princess, it is a very sensitive matter. Just know that-"

     "Either tell me the whole thing or I will reveal my identity to the entire city and you'll have to explain that to my father."

     The Covetess remained silent and watched Pedri shift around uncomfortably, hands gripped at his sides as he put his weight on his right foot. He sighed and pressed the fingers of his right hand into his temple, coughing awkwardly.

     "I... I regret to inform you that the reason why the rooms are so expensive here is that this inn also runs as part of the brothel district."

     "Is _every_ fucking building in the city part of the damned brothel district?" Wrathia shrieked, gaining her the panicked movements of the Covetess girl.

     "Please, _Princhessa_ , don't raise your voice."

     "Princess, long story short, the innkeeper thinks that I'm a customer who bought the two of you for the evening. He says that depending on..." he stopped, his face turning dark as he stumbled through his words. "He says that depending on what we- what we-" He took a deep breath. "He says depending on what we do I can pay in the morning based on whatever sexual actions happen during the night."

     Wrathia felt like murdering a small animal.

     "That's why there's two rooms." The Covetess spoke nervously, looking away as the princess glared at her. "So he can... " She looked up at Pedri, saying a word that she did not know how to translate.

     Pedri held his face in his hands, his utterly cool and unmoving stoic facade dropped for nothing but embarrassment. "There are two rooms so that in the middle of the night, if I so wish, I can _transfer_."

     Wrathia's fury could have flattened an entire planet if she so wished, at this point, but she spoke quietly, which scared Pedri more than it would of if she had spoken angrily.

     "Who will sleep where?"

     Pedri turned to the Covetess, who shrugged. He mumbled. "We... hadn't really decided on that yet."

     Wrathia inhaled deeply and started to climb the stairs, frowning as they creaked under her feet. She could feel the wood burning with every step that she took but could not bring herself to care. She reached out for the room keys, which the Covetess held out shakily. She yanked them from her grip, looking them over with a sneer. At this point, she would rather have fought everyone inside the building for a single room rather than have her dignity so abused.

     She cursed Manaria, though in the back of her mind, she still knew that is was not her fault.

     The room numbers were stamped onto the keys, some of the digits not centred properly due to an incorrect forging process. The rooms themselves were right next to each other, with deceptively solid, strong, oak doors with a heavy lock on each one.

     "You," said Wrathia, pointing to the Covetess. "You will sleep in the same room as he does." She pointed to Pedri. "In the morning we will reconvene and that is the end of it. Do you hear me?"

     The Covetess nodded, looking vaguely excited. Pedri looked up at the ceiling and said nothing.

     "What? Do you have something to say to me, Lord Nanezgani?"

     Pedri mumbled something, obviously not wanting to be heard. The princess was already fuming and he knew that if he said anything else to set her off, his head would be on a pike before sunrise.

     Sighing, Wrathia closed her eyes. "Speak."

     "Princess, it is my sworn duty to remain in your vicinity this entire trip. Now that your cousin has disappeared, it seems to me that the best course of action, for your own safety, is to not allow you to be unattended at any time."

     "What is your point?" Wrathia was tired of maintaining formalities, and crossed her arms, waiting for what she already knew he was going to say.

     "Princess, it is with the most absolute apology and greatest respect that I reside in the same room as you for the evening." He looked away. "For your own safety of course."

     The Covetess tilted her head, waiting to see how the princess would react.

     "Bloody galaxies, you really aren't going to leave, are you?" Wrathia squinted.

     "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

     Somewhere the clock tower struck again, revealing the late hour. Wrathia could feel the sleepiness setting in, and she was fed up with having to deal with the problems of the conscious world. She looked up at Pedri, whose eyes shifted around, entirely intimidated by the smaller Vengess that glared up at him.

     Wrathia turned to the Covetess, handing her one of the keys. "I'll see you at sunrise, correct?"

     The Covetess, frozen in place, now jumped to attention, hurriedly taking the key and nodding. "Of course. Once again, I am so sorry for-"

     "I've heard enough," Wrathia waved her off, moving to unlock her own door. The latch clicked and she looked back at Pedri, then at the Covetess.

     "If you hear high-pitched screaming in the middle of the night, please retrieve Lord Nanezgani's reproductive gonads from the roof."

     Eyes widening, the Covetess unlocked her door and darted into the room, the heavy lock shutting automatically. Pedri looked at the Princess, who trudged into the darkness, turning on the lantern that hung from the ceiling.

     The small bedroom went from wall to wall, with only a small bathroom with a precariously attached door. The floor was stained unidentifiably, and the Princess threw open the window to clear the musty air. She took one look at the bed, which was dirty and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages, before taking off Pedri's cloak and laying it on the mattress. She looked at him, as if to dare him to try to take it back.

     Pedri raised his arms in surrender, letting her smooth out the fabric and sit on top of it. He moved to the far corner, taking out his scythe and resting it on the wall next to him. The air that was flowing into the room cleared out the smell, and he could hear Wrathia moving things around, using sorcery to send the dust that covered everything out the window in little gusts.

     Finally satisfied, she stopped, and Pedri turned around to find that the room was much cleaner. The lantern was put out in place of little balls of fire that floated in the air, giving off warmth and licking the ceiling with little sparks. Wrathia sat very awkwardly against the wall, her bare feet tucked beneath her. She looked up at him and said nothing, watching him, waiting for him to do something.

     "I promise, I will not move from this spot," Pedri said, pointing to the corner. "And if it pleases the princess, I would also like to retain my reproduction capabilities in order to produce heirs in the future."

     "Like you would be able to find a partner," scoffed Wrathia. "Pretentious ass that you are."

     "I see your boundaries are completely gone," chuckled Pedri. He unlatched the sides of his armour and took the torso pieces off, setting them on the ground. In only his undershirt and trousers, he looked less bulky than before. He turned back to focus on the Princess, who was now curled up and facing the wall itself, unmoving.

     "Princess, it is highly uncomfortable for you to wear your armour to bed. You'll be in pain in the morning."

     "Don't tell me what to do, Pedri." The princess yawned, her exhaustion taking over.

     Pedri was taken aback, startled by the informality of his first name.

     "Princess-" he said quietly, but she was already asleep.

     Pedri lifted his hand and extinguished the lights, bringing the room into darkness. He propped himself up against the wall, head resting on a tall, empty dresser. From what the innkeeper had said, it was full of grotesquely fascinating sexual aids, and he had absolutely no interest in trying to store his weaponry among them. He held his scythe in one hand and let his eyes focus on the door, his ears picking up the little sounds and steps within the hallway.

     He would watch, carefully, and maintain his guard throughout the night.

     Or at least, until he too feel asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Morgan and Sarah.
> 
> Morgan because idk early valentines present because damn this is so romantic. I love you in the most platonic way possible.
> 
> Sarah, because she's the bomb dot com and also because I hope she liked this one just as much as I did.  
>    
> [EDIT] YOOOOOOO WHO REMEMBERS LORD QUILEX?? Apparently he had a brother, who knew?  
> 
> 
> _(Imminent or presently used headcanons from paladincomplex and virvendir!)_


	8. An Impending Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.
> 
> Pedri makes Wrathia smile.

     Corval sat in the library, candles around him burning brightly as the night dragged on. Language books were stacked around him on the desk, forming high walls that he couldn't see past, blocking out the outside world. He turned the page, and the sound of dragging paper seemed loud in the empty room. He yawned, stretching his arms out behind him as he pushed out his chest, grunting as his back cracked. He had been working for what seemed like hours, and now that Wrathia had left, he felt out of place among the other nobles.

     The only people who spoke enough Karok to understand him were his mother, his servants, and Wrathia's tutor, who still looked at him questioningly, as if he suspected Corval of plotting against the empire. Therefore, the library had been the best option, and though he had brought several blankets with him, he was beginning to regret not bringing a coat. The moment he uncrossed his legs and stepped onto the floor, he yelped and jumped back up. Due to their fiery nature, Vengess people generally avoided carpeting, which to his dismay, meant that the entire palace, without heat from its inhabitants, grew to freezing temperatures at night. Tentatively, he pressed one foot onto the floor and shuddered, grabbing his textbooks and the candles as he bundled up tightly. Karo temperatures were usually a lot higher than those of Vengess galaxies, so he'd need to get used to it eventually.

     Steeling himself, his bare feet made slapping noises on the marble floor as he walked back towards the entrance, where the door was ajar. In one hand was the candleholder, and the other, he gripped his books tightly, shivering as he sped up. He got to the door and pushed it with his shoulder, wincing as it groaned loudly. He hoped that he hadn't woken up anyone in the palace.

     He walked silently, almost like a ghost, through the hallways of the palace, looking up at the walls. The architecture of the palace included high ceilings almost everywhere, and Corval had passing wonders of how they got up so high to clean the corners. Flickering in the dim firelight, royal portraits were lit up as he passed, the stern, intelligent faces of past rulers watching him with critical eyes. Sometimes, there were no paintings at all, but instead, weapons and shields hanging from hooks. Corval saw a huge painting at the end of the hall and walked up to it, looking up at it in wonder as it stretched to the very top of the rafters.

     A family tree. Back to the very beginnings of the Vengess nobility, Corval could see names and faded drawings of Wrathia's ancestors at the very top, slowly changing into newer portraits and black, inky names written in cursive. The farther down he went, the more names he recognized and the more faces seemed familiar. Closer to ground level, he stopped, resting on his own name.

     There was a portrait of him painted directly onto the wall, the likeness uncanny. He was looking off into the distance, seeming confident, strong, like a leader. Beside him, Wrathia's portrait looked the same, but she looked in the other direction, and had a fierce smile on her face, like she had just won a fight. Corval squatted, setting his books down and clutching the blanket at his shoulders, holding up the candelabra to look closer. While all the essence of formality could be found in her portrait, there were signs that a child had played here, and drawn on the wall.

     Coloured fingerprints were faded, like someone had smudged paint onto the wall and it had been scrubbed off. Above Wrathia, the words "Mama" and "Papa" were scratched into the wood, under the queen and king. Corval smiled, imaging a tiny Wrathia defacing parts of the palace with paint and her nails, then begrudgingly cleaning it up after being told to. Stuck in his thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that there was a blank spot. He inched a bit to the right, and could see that below him and Wrathia, an empty oval glared back at him. The space below it was blank, the area waiting for a new owner.

     His child.

     Crashing back to reality, Corval had to sit down, staring blankly at the wall as he pulled the blanket over his head. Huddled into a ball, with his forehead covered, he felt warmer, but was met with unavoidable guilt. He probably should have read up more on Vengess child rearing in the library, and he cursed himself for not looking up information. Resting his hand in his palm, he was filled with so many questions.

      _A Karo name or a Vengess name? Would they have the third eye? What if Wrathia had complications? What if there were hatching problems? Did it need to be incubated? Would they even like him? What if he couldn't be a good father?_

     Corval stopped again, looking back up at the wall. The spot next to the Karo queen was empty, his father completely absent from the timeline. Corval did not know much about his father. All he knew was what he had heard from the servants when they thought he couldn't hear them. Apparently, when the queen had been really young, she had fallen in love with a peasant boy. She ended up having his child, but he was banished from the kingdom by Corval's grandparents. His mother had fallen into a depression and refused to talk about it with him, especially now.

     Corval had vague memories of being younger and seeing his mother at the king's funeral, which made her the new, current ruler. She had been smiling, though her funerary veil hid it from everyone but him. The moment they had gotten back, his mother had replaced her black with gold, and mounted the throne without so much as a second thought about her parents. She sent out decrees, and a search party to find the man she'd fallen in love with, determined to be reunited with him in the end. He hadn't understood it when he'd found out, but he had found his mother sobbing in her room, clutching a piece of paper in her hand, fist clenched so tightly that her nails drew blood from her palm.

     "Suicide," they called it. 

     The peasant boy had killed himself only a couple years after he had been forced to leave, exiled to a desolate planet on the outskirts of the galaxy. Corval could definitely remember the stares that people had given him as he rode next to his mother, as she held a huge, overblown funeral that many thought the peasant boy had been undeserving of. For those critical of the queen, they pointed out that the extravagance rivalled that of the old king's funeral, and that the peasant had been buried in the royal mausoleum in a coffin of gold and ivory.

     Corval pretended not to notice when those people disappeared weeks later.

     Now, he was the face of his kingdom, and everyone looked to him for guidance, especially now that he had come of age. Even for the overly critical and the cruel, the bastard, half-breed, child-king of Karo was bounds above the harlot queen with a blind eye.

     Corval knew it wasn't right. Once he gained his people's trust through strengthening their kingdom, he planned on changing it. He would see his mother smile again, and he would make everyone happy if it was the last thing he did.

     Lost in his thoughts, he was brought back by the sound of a door unlocking.

     Turning his head, he saw a dark figure leaving a room at the end of the hall, their face hidden by a cloak. They walked unsurely, as if they had no idea of the palace layout, looking around confusedly. They turned their head, and their eyes settled on Corval, causing them to freeze in place. The pair watched each other, silently, staring out of fear and shock.

     The hooded figure cleared their throat, clearing the silence suddenly.

     " _Excuse me, do you know how to get out of the palace?_ "

     Corval lifted the candles higher, trying to make out their face. In his shock, he stuttered out. " _Go down the stairs to your left to get to the kitchen, then you can leave through the servant door._ "

     " _Thank you._ "

     They whisked away, their steps quick and hurried and Corval could swear he heard the tinkling sound of coins in their pocket. He slumped over and turned to pick up his books again, met with enough surprises enough for one night. He continued to walk until he reached the wedding room, closing the door behind him as he dropped into bed, adding his blanket to the many that were piled on already so he didn't freeze to death. Distracted, he blew out the candles and nestled into his pillow, pulling up the covers to his chin.

     Selfishly, he wished that Wrathia was here so that she could heat up the bed. Shivering, he slowly began to warm up, his mind becoming foggy as he closed his eyes. After a while, he began to drift off to sleep, his breathing slowed and his body tired. In his last conscious thoughts, he blinked very slowly, his mind working sluggishly as he came to a realization.

     Back in the hallway, when he had talked to the stranger, it had been in his mother tongue. They had spoken to him in Karok, and he had answered, completely oblivious to the fact that his fore-eye and his clothes had been covered. Without those identifiers, how could they have possibly known that he was Karo?

     In his half-awake state, he tried to analyze the thought more, but his mind danced to other things and the question was left abandoned, like all dream thoughts are. He'd deal with it in the morning, but for now, he slept, exhausted. 

     Outside, the sound of a rising airship could be heard, and someone -- some unidentifiable, anonymous person -- flew off into the night, coins in hand and grin on their face.

-

      _Burn, burn, burn._

_She was running. Chest heaving, Wrathia scrambled up the flaming hillside, coughing as she breathed in smoke. The air was thick and it made her lungs feel like stone. All around her, fire burned and crackled, the remnants of a fallen city falling apart everywhere she looked. She could hear the screams of thousands of people, but could not see anybody as she whipped her head around, eyes flashing from house to house. This was not a fire, she knew what real fire felt like. This was something unnatural, something different from the blaze that she had been born into._

_It was sorcery._

_Heart pounding, she overlooked the city, and the voices of the people became louder, her vision turning red. Above it all, she heard something that chilled her to the bone. A soft, low lullaby drowned out all of the screams, and the fires started to die. Instead, the world started to disappear, and the blackness consumed her vision. She could feel herself being torn apart, limb from limb, her tendons and skin ripping like paper. Pain, she had not felt something this excruciating before. Her insides twisted and every single stitching of her existence began to fall apart as the void came closer. All the while, the soft, lilting humming became discordant in her ears, and what once sounded deceptively beautiful was a screeching, harsh scream._

_Her fingers burned and her bones broke, a false blaze melting her flesh and making it bubble. She shook, trying to pull away but she could not move. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled her nose and she tried to cry out in pain but her throat was full of ash. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, and her mind was filled with thoughts of betrayal, lies, and deception._

_Help me._

_Somebody, please, save them._

_Save me._

_She saw a figure, someone walking in the distance, and she strained with all her might, feeling her shoulder crack and shatter. Fingers grasping at the air, she got their attention, and they looked over, their piercing glare making Wrathia feel like throwing up._

_She saw three eyes. Three, blood-red eyes._

_"Help me, please," she coughed out, her voice hoarse. She was beginning to lose her words, her mind, and she could barely form sentences for the excruciating, acidic pain that pounded through her head. There was nothing but her and the other person, and the horrible, evil music that wouldn't go away._

_"Corval?" Wrathia pleaded, a single name that she plucked from what was left of her consciousness. "Is that you?"_

_The person smiled, their gleaming teeth looking sinister and sharp._

_She saw three eyes, a sharp grin-_

_And then she saw nothing._

     Wrathia jolted up in bed, her eyes wide as she looked around in the darkness. Above her, a figure loomed, and they looked at her, questioningly. In the darkness, Wrathia could make out three eyes, and she crawled away. Slamming herself against the wall and reaching out for her knife, her breathing was far too fast as she thrust the blade forward, eyes panicked and full of fear.

     "Princess!" he called out.

     "Get away from me!" Wrathia kicked herself away and stumbled back into the corner, shaking.

     "Princess-- Wrathia, it's me!"

     The princess shielded her eyes as the lantern above flickered on, purple light softer and more muted than her own. Pedri held his hands out in front of him, motioning for her to calm down. Lifting his arms, he repeated, his voice calming and low.

     "It's me. I mean you no harm."

     Wrathia looked at him, eyes searching wildly for a threat, for a sign that what she had seen before was real. Slowly pulling herself up against the wall, she lifted her hand but realized that it was shaking. She dropped the knife and sat back down again, looking at the floor. She would be damned if she cried in front of Pedri, especially over something as trivial as a nightmare. She inhaled deeply, propping her arms on her knees as she lowered her head, shivering.

     "Princess?" Pedri stayed where her was, but reached out a hand, looking worried. "Are you alright?"

     "I'm fine, leave me alone." Her voice was curt, impolite. She clenched her jaw and balled her hands into fists, bringing both of them into her lap. As much as she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that filled her mind. She knew that it couldn't have been Corval, because Corval would have never done such a horrible thing. But she still couldn't stop thinking about the eyes that had watched her from the void, smiling as she -- and the world -- burned to pieces. She leaned against the wall and felt her eyes begin to water, holding off the tears as she blinked rapidly.

     "Hey- hey princess," Pedri called out to her.

     Tearfully, she replied, disgusted with how shaky her voice was. "What?"

     Hearing no reply, she looked over to find that Pedri had lit up the air with glowing insects, making them do spirals as they swooped low onto the ground. Momentarily distracted, she watched him twist his fingers, flicking his wrist to send little sparks up to the ceiling and to make the dragonflies dance around the room. Above, a tessellation of shattered, pink light made the roof look like a cathedral, and the room began to fill with a magnificent show of fireworks and spinning bugs. Wrathia adjusted herself to look at the roof, fascinated as it moved, rippling like an ocean made of molten opals and amethyst. Pedri watched her carefully, looking up at the ceiling as well. He brought his hands together, sending a bright stream of light into the lantern. It burst into flames that licked the sides of the paper and wire, never burning it. All the illusions in the room began to morph together into comets and streams of violet stars, flowing into the lantern one by one. They gathered inside and slowly become brighter as they joined together into a single source of light. Bustling, restless, they shook with energy, and Pedri looked at the princess one last time before finally smiling himself. He snapped his fingers, making the raw, volatile energy shoot up into the rafters and explode against the wood. In a flash, it sent a shower of sparks and glittering stardust onto the ground in a soft rain. Wrathia held out her arm, wiping her eyes and smiling as she tilted her elbow, watching the back of her hand shimmer.

     Pedri spoke once more, his voice softer, kinder. "Are you alright, Wrathia?" From outside, the sun was beginning to rise, and it sent a warm, orange glow through the window. Wrathia let out a small laugh. 

     "I suppose I am now."

-

     "When will the coronation be?"

     "Of the princess? Probably after she has the egg, why?" Marok looked at Manaria from across the breakfast table, his mouth full of porridge. He gestured to his wife, tilting his bowl back to pour more food into his mouth. "Ellia? What do you think?"

     "What I think is that -- chew your food, Marok -- Manaria, Wrathia's child is not due for at least a couple months. Then with incubation, Wrathia will have to rule for quite a while before it hatches."

     "But as soon as she has the egg, she and Corval will be crowned, right?"

     "Yes," Ellia nodded. "Once she has either reached a certain age, or birthed a child, she will be viewed as an adult in the eyes of the kingdom."

     "Which will come as quite a shock, considering that she'd not that much older than you," mumbled Marok, reaching out for a boiled egg. "Imagine all that responsibility. I hope it isn't bothering her too much."

     "Oh hush, Marok, she's entirely capable. But why did you ask, Manaria?"

     Manaria swallowed nervously. "I just wanted to know when she might take a consort."

     Her parents froze in place, egg still poised in front of Marok's mouth, and Ellia's hands resting pensively in front of her face. They looked at each other, eyebrows quirked as they exchanged unspoken words.

     "Manaria, my child..." Marok set the egg down on his plate, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Do you... wish to take a consort as well?"

     "Not that we would deny you," sputtered Ellia, her usual serenity gone. "I mean, you've certainly matured, and by all means, I had one at your age and-"

     "Mother, I don't need to know that!" shrieked Manaria, her eyes widening. "I just wanted to know because it's traditional for her to take one once she's married!"

     Ellia visibly relaxed, and Marok slumped over in his chair, groaning in relief. Manaria laughed awkwardly, looking to the side. "Besides, I don't think I'd ever want a consort. The idea doesn't interest me."

     "And that's completely fine," said Ellia, patting the table. "But Wrathia? A consort? Does she have someone in mind? Maybe one of the lords or ladies of the court?"

     "I have no idea," Manaria shrugged, fiddling with her cutlery. "It's just that, she and Corval are just friends. I don't think she'd be interested in him in that way, and I thought it would be an interesting way to ally with a court member."

     "Listen to our daughter," Marok chuckled. "Already thinking in political terms. Growing up too fast."

     Manaria raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Five seconds ago you were completely willing to let me have a consort."

     Marok moved to speak but Ellia waved him off, slapping him with the side of her wing. She leaned forward, resting on her elbow on the table. "Forget what he said, but yes it would be a smart idea to link her with another court member. But, what we need to remember is that in the end, she has freedom of choice in her partner. While in the past, some people have used their consort as a way to sway political views, I'd think that nowadays, it would be someone she genuinely cared for."

     "Which would be difficult, considering that she hasn't been very exposed to people outside the court."

     "Yes, Marok, thank you."

     Manaria leaned back. "So, what would happen then? It's not like she can just randomly find someone out of nowhere to fall in love with."

     Ellia looked at Marok, raising her hands up in surrender. "This is your territory, dear. My knowledge of Vengess courtship culture ends here."

     "Especially since dad never took a consort," Manaria added.

     "That you know of." Marok waggled his eyebrows. He yelped in pain as Ellia slapped his leg. Smiling sheepishly, he looked at Manaria. "I deserved that." Sitting up straight, he rested his elbows on the table as well, tilting his head as he spoke.

     "I can understand why you wouldn't be familiar with Vengess courting, especially since the kingdom hasn't had a good ceremony in centuries. The king never took one either, and the queen simply picked the Lady Sorceress, who was already a member of the court. Because of that, you never got exposed to the courting rituals that most young royalty go through after their marriage."

     "There are rituals involved?" Manaria squinted. "Rituals for falling in love? Isn't that just sorcery?"

     "Maybe 'rituals' is the wrong word," said Marok, shaking his head. "It's more like a procession. People from all over come to court the princess, trying to woo her and in turn be wooed by her. Its an opportunity for even the lowest of classes to take a swing at it. They bring gifts, sing songs, I remember for my mother, someone tried to turn the throne room into the ocean. We were wringing out the tapestries for weeks afterward."

     Manaria giggled. Thinking carefully, she looked at her father. "Couldn't people just fake their emotions and then take advantage of whoever they are paired with?"

     Marok sighed, shaking his head. "That used to be a problem. Now we have the linking ceremony, where the love of the two are tested through trials and sorcery. The whole family gets involved, and in some cases it can take weeks to finally prove how truly they love each other."

     "But not in the case of Ria and the Lady Sorceress," chuckled Ellia. "Oh no."

     Marok laughed heartily, clutching his sides. "Definitely not." He got up and started to clear the dishes, floating them into the air and setting them in piles. He moved away Manaria's bowl and scratched her head as he passed, sending all the dishes into the small kitchen. "The Lady Sorceress," he said, running the water as he started to wash the cutlery. "She so thoroughly loved the queen, and she her, that they were able to pass the linking ceremony in under a minute."

     Manaria poked her head into the kitchen. "A minute? But you said it would take weeks!"

     Ellia rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder and Manaria turned her head to face her mother. The woman smiled. "If the emotional bond between the two is extremely powerful, a simple touch will set both their cores alight. When the queen and her consort linked hands in front of the court, the light was so blinding that they say the stars had come down and fallen asleep in their bodies."

     "How poetic," laughed Marok. "Have you been drinking with my sister again?"

     "Yes, and she sends her regards."

     "So if Wrathia finds a consort," said Manaria. "She'll be that happy? And she'll have someone who loves her so much that they say the stars are in their hearts?"

     "Something like that," agreed Ellia. She walked past her daughter and wrapped her arms around Marok, resting her head on top of his. "If she's really lucky, she'll live a prosperous future with someone that she loves."

     "But she already has people that love her."

     Ellia looked back, smiling lazily. "Absolutely. And we'll always be there to support her every step of the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a chapter so cute and happy, you know that SOMEBODY is gonna die eventually.
> 
> (Thinking logically, we know at least ONE PERSON who is going to die.)
> 
> Just putting that out there.


	9. Empty Stomachs and Empty Seats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally written a lot more, but it got deleted, so I will be posting a lot more when I get back from vacation. HHHHHHHH I'm sorry, but anyways, have a good spring break!

     Pedri knelt before the king, his hand to his chest as he bowed his head. All around them, the royal court watched silently, the rising sun just beginning to cast shadows along the throne room floor. A new sunrise, a new beginning, as was tradition.

     "Lord Pedri Nanezgani, child of the Vengess, child of his blood," the king took a breath, lowering his hand as a soft light glowed in his palm. "Will hereby be known as Lord Enforcer, Pedri Nanezgani." Releasing the light, he cupped it gently and lowered it onto Pedri's head, letting it wash over him in a shower of dust. The light itself, had no effect, and was merely a blessing of the royal family.

     Pedri stood, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as he bowed once more. Now, the sun was directly above the horizon, and in a hushed voice, he spoke. "It is an honour to serve the royal family, and to protect the heirs of empire. I will serve until my last breath."

     From the back of the room, Corval tilted his head and whispered, his voice concerned. " _Will he actually?_ "

     Wrathia snorted quietly, watching Pedri raise his sword in the air. She shook her head. " _No. It's just what you're supposed to say. He won't actually, he can just retire when he wants to._ "

     " _So it's a lie then,_ " Corval said. " _It's just something that he needs to say to procure the position, then he can do whatever he wants?_ "

     " _I think you're taking this too seriously,_ " mumbled Wrathia.

-

     Manaria leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she watched servants bring in food. In the grand dining room, hundreds of tables had been brought in, lined as carefully as bricks. They had not anticipated that so many people would be attending, considering that it was a simple ceremony for a changing of the royal guard. Yet, impatiently and slightly anxiously, members of the Karo court waited outside. Whether it was out of interest or a feeling of familial obligation, Manaria couldn't decide.

     Servants bustled about, setting down tablecloths and silverware in frantic streams. The guest list had been thrown out long ago, and the breakfast celebration was already an hour behind. Careful to stay out of their way, Manaria skirted across the edges of the room, sneakily grabbing an apple from a passing fruit basket. Biting into it, she relished the crunch and hastily wiped away the juice that dripped from the edge of her mouth. It wasn't until she had reached the doorway to the kitchen that she realized that she was being watched.

     "Hello," the Covetess said shyly, eyes downcast. "Lady Manaria, I just wanted to know-"

     "Where Pedri is?"

     The Covetess' cheeks flushed a bright pink and she looked away, wringing her hands. "Well, I wouldn't say that I was specifically-"

     Shaking her head, Manaria bit into the apple again, speaking with her mouth full. "He's probably in the East wing. Now that he works for the royal family, he'll be moving into the palace, and his room would be there anyways."

     "Oh, thank you," the Covetess blushed again, before walking off in the other direction with a newfound sense of vigour.

     Manaria laughed, ducking down to narrowly avoid collision with a passing tray of roast duck. She stepped into the kitchen, met with the smells of fried onions and garlic. She inhaled deeply before stepping to the side, watching hungrily as bowls of stew were ran past by a distressed looking server.

     "Manaria, what are you doing in my kitchen?"

     She looked up, and was met with the view of an enormous Omben woman, hands on her hips and a wooden spoon in her grip. Brandishing it like a sword, the woman squinted at Manaria.

     "Are you trying to get into the desserts? Well you'll never find them because I've hidden them away too well this time."

     "Lohma, you have icing sugar in your hair."

     Grumbling angrily, the woman shook out her dark, curly hair, sending a small cloud of white powder floating to the floor. "Once again, child, why are you here?"

     Manaria moved out of the way as a servant burst in, watching as they hastily grabbed handfuls of napkins before running back out. She frowned. "How much longer will it be? I think everyone is getting very hungry."

     "And by that, you mean, you are getting hungry," Lohma laughed. Looking around, she opened a cupboard above her head and reached in, feeling around until she smiled. Hefting herself upward, she pulled out a serving platter, covered in small, iced cakes. Slivers of almonds were sprinkled over each one, and Manaria could feel herself drooling.

     "Just one, you spoiled child," Lohma grunted, holding them out. Manaria smiled happily, taking one and greedily pressing it into her mouth. Just as Lohma lifted the tray again, she jumped up, grabbing another and bolting out of the room. 

     "Manaria!"

     "Thank you, Lohma!" Manaria could hear the sounds of mock anger echoing out of the kitchen as she ran, her legs pumping beneath her as she laughed. She ran to the far end of the dining room, turning the corner. The hallway she ran down was dark, with only a few, shallow windows casting light onto the stone. She ran faster, watching the hallway open up further until she had reached the grand staircase. Taking the steps two by two, she could see the walls getting brighter as she went, making her way to the roof.

     One cake for her, one for Wrathia, just like it always was.

-

     "Hello, princess."

     Wrathia turned her head back to see Pedri standing behind her, arms crossed in what she guessed was an attempt to look nonchalant.

     "Really, Lord Pedri, you hardly look intimidating with all of that shimmery dust still left on you."

     Swearing, Pedri looked down at himself, brushing his armour with his fingertips. He lifted them up, only to realize that it had just transferred onto his hands. Sighing, he stepped forward to stand next to Wrathia, watching the people in the courtyard below.

     "I'll have you know, that sparkles can be very intimidating."

     "Of course," Wrathia nodded her head. "Your very glittery being strikes fear into my heart."

     Pedri chuckled. Stretching his arms out, he looked up at the sky and blinked slowly, watching the clouds pass. It was still fairly early, and he yawned, the previous adrenaline from the ceremony leaving his system.

     "Am I boring you, Lord Pedri?"

     He shook his head. "No, princess, you are not. Though for honesty's sake, I must state that even if you were, I would need to stay here anyways."

     "Comforting."

     Below, more people were starting to gather, all of them dressed in their finest clothes, waiting to enter the palace. Wrathia looked at Pedri. "All these people coming for you, what sort of hidden influence do you have?"

     Pedri shook his head. "I couldn't tell you exactly, but I have a vague idea. There's Vengess, and Karo from the prince's side, but a surprising amount are the families that I met while studying abroad."

     "Are they now?" Wrathia peered over the side of the roof, gripping the edge tightly. Below, she could see now that a great many of the guests were about her age, and they all looked vaguely uncomfortable in such a formal setting. A few were even dressed in what she assumed were the finest clothes of peasants, solid colours and worn cloth. "You have interesting acquaintances, Lord Pedri."

     "Indeed," Pedri nodded. "Though they are not as bad as they seem, I assure you."

     Wrathia sat back up, hanging her legs off the roof and swinging them back and forth, feeling a light breeze between her toes. She could feel Pedri standing unsurely behind her, waiting to ask what she was already expecting.

     "If you're going to ask, just do it."

     Pedri nodded, not that Wrathia could see. "How is... Lady Manaria taking this?"

     Wrathia remained silent, looking forward. The wind blew her hair back slightly and she tilted her chin upwards, feeling the warm sun on her face. The hot season was coming, though for now it was at a comfortable in-between. Pursing her lips, she answered.

     "I am usually well-traversed in my cousin's thoughts, though on this matter I am as unknowing as you are."

     Pedri said nothing, instead sitting down a respectable distance behind the princess. He broke the silence again.

     "And, how is your child faring, princess?"

     Wrathia opened her eyes and looked back down, brow furrowed. She brought her hand to her stomach and focused on the warmth that she felt against her fingertips. Her stomach was starting to round ever-slightly now, and it would only be a matter of time before she would need to get new clothing. 

     She looked back at Pedri, leaning against her arm. "I am due in a few months, during the peak of the sun season."

     "Is that a good omen?" Pedri asked.

     Wrathia shrugged. "It's supposed to be."

     The two sat in silence once more, and from below, the sound of brass bells ringing could be heard echoing through the palace, making the tiles beneath them shake almost imperceptibly.

     "It's time to go back down." Pedri stood again, walking forward. With a hand outstretched to the princess, he cracked a half smile. "And it is time for us to take on the roles that have been dealt to us."

     Wrathia rolled her eyes, getting up without Pedri's help. She snorted. "Maybe I'll meet a possible consort, who knows?"

     "Consorts already, princess? You've only just had your first child."

     "Shut up, Lord Pedri."

     Pedri smiled, trailing behind her as she swung back into her room through the open window. 

     "As you wish."

-

     Manaria groaned, watching the pair come back inside. Of course Pedri would be with her, now that he had officially been told to do so. Looking down at the sad, lonely cake in her hand, she let out a huge sigh. She was just about to bite into it when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

     The voice called out to someone behind them. "Yes, thank you!"

     Corval.

     Damn it.

     Manaria whipped her head around, trying to look for somewhere to hide, but cursed when she realized the hallway was bare. It wasn't that she didn't like Corval, it's just that without Wrathia there, things always seemed unnecessarily awkward between them. Especially since she knew exactly the relationship he had with her.The footsteps were coming closer and in her panicked state, she found herself turning to walk away.

     "Lady Manaria?"

     She turned, smiling half-heartedly. "Ah, Prince Corval. How nice to see you again."

     Corval smiled, obviously oblivious to her discomfort. In broken Vengess, he spoke. "Nice to see you again... too. Are you making your way back to the-" he paused. "Dining room?"

     Manaria nodded, not trusting herself to say anything that wouldn't come out at least mildly offensive. Corval began to walk, and she kept pace beside him, feeling out of place. Shifting the cake from one hand to the other, she found herself holding it out to Corval.

     "Are you hungry?"

     Corval looked down, eyes widening as he saw the food she held in her hand. "Yes. Stars above, yes."

     Manaria laughed, genuinely surprised by his lack of formality. "Here, take it."

     Corval's hand hovered over hers, his eyes wary. "Are you sure?"

     Manaria raised her eyebrow, ever confused by the politeness of Karo people. She stuttered out, "I'm not... hungry?"

     "Oh my, thank you," Corval lifted it out of her hand and bit into it, catching crumbs in his hand. "I have not eaten since yesterday, and I missed the..." he took a deep breath, memorized words spilling from his mouth in a practiced stream. "Pre-inauguration tiding meal." He smiled, proud of himself for remembering such a term.

     "You mean, when the royal family eats to make sure they don't collapse from exhaustion during the ceremony? You missed that?"

     Corval nodded sadly, his mouth full. Swallowing, he spoke again. "I was confused as to what the words meant, and I did not understand that we would not be able to eat... in-between the two times."

     "I was wondering where you were," Manaria murmured, remembering the simple meal that she and Wrathia's family had eaten in the kitchen during the early hours of the day, before the sun had risen. She turned to Corval. "Didn't your mother know?"

     Corval shook his head, creasing his brow in worry. "I do not know where my _kamar_ is"

     " _Kamar?_ "

     "Sorry," Corval shook his head. "Mother. I do not know where she is. I have been looking for her." His pace quickened and he turned around, walking backwards. "Have you seen her?"

     Manaria shook her head. The Karo queen hadn't been present when she had eaten either, which had been especially noticeable considering that nobody else drank the tea that had been set out.

     They reached the door and opened it, the old oak creaking noisily as they walked into the dining room, Manaria pushing past people and Corval following timidly behind her.

     "Don't worry," Manaria said, her eyes sympathetic. "I'm sure you will find her here. All royals and members of the court need to be present after all."

     Corval nodded, but said nothing, his eyes still concerned. Manaria kept walking forward, but realized that she no longer needed to push people out of the way, as the crowd had split apart. The room was silent, and she froze in place as people began to bow, their skirts, hair, armour sweeping the floor. She was momentarily confused before she realized that Corval was standing beside her, smiling widely and waving to the people, any sense of discomfort gone from his face. It was sometimes scary how good he was getting at doing that.

     Manaria let him walk in front of her, bowing her head so not to attract attention to herself. Vengess nobles nodded to her as she passed, but the Karo guests barely even registered that she was in front of them, instead bowing ridiculously low to Corval in a manner that she thought was theatrical. Their steps echoed off the walls and from outside, birds could be heard. Though the sun was warm and shone in through the tall windows, Manaria felt cold as she walked, an odd chill running up her spine, something was off. They reached the main table and Corval smiled even wider, seeing that his mother was sitting down next to the king. As he reached her the room began to raise in volume again, the guests focusing back to their own meals and empty stomachs.

     Manaria nodded to Wrathia, sitting beside her in her usual spot. On the princess' other side, Pedri spoke in a hushed voice, too quiet for Manaria to hear. Wrathia laughed, and Manaria watched Pedri gesture to a table full of boys, who whooped and cheered wildly when Pedri looked at them. They called out to him and said something that made his eyes widen, choking on his drink before what Manaria assumed was apologizing to the princess.

     Manaria said nothing, eyes looking curiously at the edge of the tablecloth with what she hoped looked like interest. Focusing on the woven threads, she could make out stains that she and Wrathia had left on it as children, spilling food and drink onto the cloth. Smiling softly, she looked up again to see that Wrathia was still talking to Pedri, looking happy to be there. Manaria wanted to say something, but was interrupted when Pedri pointed at another table to the far right, waving to the people seated there.

     Vaguely annoyed, Manaria felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see her mother smiling down at her, moving to sit in the chair beside her. Ellia was dressed in Omben splendour, a thick, red robe wrapped around her torso, wings shining with gold rings. She shifted into the chair, making sure that her wings would not hit anything behind her before she turned to Manaria.

     "Have you seen your father?"

     Manaria shook her head, looking at the empty seat at the far end of the table. "I haven't, is he busy this morning?"

     Ellia frowned, peering over the heads of the people in the dining room, trying to find her husband. "No, he said he would be coming. It's his retirement as well, he should be here."

     Manaria shrugged, though she hid her worry. "Could he be at the stables?"

     Her mother squinted, settling back down into her chair. "I doubt it, though I sent a messenger to go and find him. He'll be here soon." She turned to look at her daughter, raising her eyebrows as she noticed Wrathia in the background.

     "Wrathia and Pedri seem awfully friendly," she mused, looking back down at Manaria.

     Manaria looked forward, her face bored. "Yes, it seems that way."

     Ellia shook it off, instead leaning back to make eye contact with the king. She waved at him, an he looked over, his eyes questioning.

     "Where's Marok? He wouldn't miss this for the world."

     Ellia nodded, looking back into the crowd before tilting her head again. "He'll come eventually. We should start in the meantime."

     Ehtar nodded, standing up in his chair, the wooden legs screeching on the floor. The room grew silent, and he raised his hands, smiling openly to the entire room. "I know we're all hungry-" The Vengess guests shouted in agreement, banging the tables with their fists. The king chuckled. "So let's begin."

     Soft, string music began to play, and Manaria watched all the guests stand, forking food into their plates and beginning to eat. The roast at her table was cut open by servants, and Manaria watched steam rise from the dish, thick slices being served to each person. Her mother politely declined, as she didn't eat meat, instead directing the server to her daughter. Manaria smiled and nodded to the man, watching him set a piece in front of her before moving on.

     On her plate, food began to pile up, meats, sliced fruit, fresh bread and the finest delicacies from Vengess to Valaro. Her cup was filled, and she drank from it, slouching back in her chair as she took small sips. Her eyes were focused on the doors, and she waited for her father to arrive, tuning out the sounds around her. The sun was fully shining now, and she watched the guests having a good time in front of her. Singing, eating, laughing, they were all thoroughly enjoying themselves, even the Karo, who let out small smiles and engaged in polite conversation with their neighbours.

     The music raised in volume and Manaria could hear her mother making comments on the composition of the music, not that she was listening.

     Her eyes were dead set on the door, waiting for it to swing open, waiting for her father to step through, because he would never miss such an occasion. He would not be late to a royal feast. It was not in his nature, and it was not normal.

     Manaria set her glass down, crossing her arms.

     Something was not right.

-

-

     In front of him, a hooded figure stood, pressing their hand against his bare chest. He jolted forward against his shackles as his core lit up again, his body glowing in the dark room. His wrists were raw, and as he pulled agains the iron chains, they dug into his skin, drawing blood. They removed their hand, and he fell back, weakened as his essence was stolen from him. On his chest was a dark red handprint, burned into his body with unnatural heat. Marok coughed, swearing softly as tears fell from his eyes. His fire inside was still burning, though it was dangerously close to flickering out. In an attempt to save him, his body was starting to shut down, and he could feel his hands going numb. The figure murmured something unintelligible, and pressed their hand against him again, causing Marok's body to twist in agony as he breathed heavily, too weak to cry out. He could hear water dripping in the corner, and when he spat, he tasted blood in his mouth.

     From the back of the room, a voice called out. " _That should be enough._ "

     The hooded figure looked back, seeing something that he could not. "Are you sure? There's still some power left. We need all of it."

     The voice laughed darkly. " _We don't want to kill him in that way, fool._ "

     "Please, I have a family, a daughter," Marok whispered. "Please, I don't want to die." He lifted his head, which felt heavier than anything before. Eyelids bruised and nose bleeding, he tried to stand. In long-forgotten, choppy Karok, he coughed out. " _What do you want?_ "

     " _What do I want?_ " from the depths of the room, the voice answered, sounding smug.

     "I want to set an example."


	10. The Smiles of the Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Smile when you greet Death, he must be tired of miserable faces."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has been raised, please note that sensitive readers must proceed with caution if they choose to move on with the story. Thank you.

     The sky was beautiful. From where he stood, far above him in a wide expanse, the sky looked beautiful. Marok could hear lovely, soft music and he hummed quietly, his feet moving of their own accord. Step by step, he could recall dancing with Ellia the first time, how she'd smiled down at him when he'd asked her to waltz. She had given him that same smile when he'd asked her to marry him.

     When Manaria had first opened her eyes, it had been a cold, snowy day, and she'd looked up at him with so much hope, and happiness that he forgot to breathe. In the furthest parts of his memory, he could hear her babbling as she shuffled along the floor, murmuring nonsense to herself as Ellia guided her. He remembered muddy footprints tracked all over the carpet when Manaria had let several lizards into the house, and he remembered the yellow roses that Ellia planted in the garden. He could smell the cooking of food somewhere in the distance and he frowned. Was he late? He felt like he was late for something.

     The sound of the wind blowing brought him back to his memories. He could feel tiling beneath his bare feet and he chuckled under his breath, remembering how he'd jumped from rooftop to rooftop trying to catch his daughter the one time she'd run away from home. He stepped forward, and he could see Ellia's face, softened and sleepy when she'd fall asleep in her study, cheek pressed into piles of music notes and textbooks. He saw open fields where he'd risen victorious and he saw his home, windows glowing in the night and fireflies lighting the pathway. He saw new mornings and spilled wine and bookshelves and grinning faces that whispered to him in a language he didn't understand.

     He saw a thousand sunsets and sunrises that he'd lived through, stars dancing on the horizon as he recalled every single beautiful moment from his life. His heartbeat was slow and he lifted his arms towards the sky, the bright light warming his face like a kiss. He could hear singing, he could hear laughing, he could hear their voices.

     "I love you, Marok."

     "I love you, Papa."

     Marok felt so happy.

     He smiled as he fell.

-

     Pedri sat in his room, perched on the edge of the bed nervously. Around him were different wooden trunks, all filled with his belongings brought from home. Empty shelves lined the walls and the sound of running water could be heard coming from the bathroom. Steam came out through the door and Pedri took a towel from the box closest to him, slinging it over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. He lifted his arm and blew on it, trying to dislodge the silvery dust that seemed embedded in his skin. Cursing, he dropped his arm and closed the door, locking it even though he knew nobody would try to come in.

     The windows were foggy, as well as the mirror, and Pedri threw the towel onto the floor, disrobing and stepping into the bath. Lowering himself in, he let his eyes peek out above the water as he sighed, causing a stream of bubbles to come to the surface. He sloshed around, listening to the water move around the tub before sinking below to wash his hair.

     Satisfied that he had gotten most of it off, Pedri wrapped a towel around his waist, shaking his head wildly. Flecks of water flew into the air and he ruffled his hair, watching it settle flatly against his forehead. He swept it back, and looked into the now clearing mirror, staring at his reflection with interest. They said that you could never tell if you had aged or not. If you see yourself in the mirror every day, it's impossible to see a drastic change. Pedri was no exception, and he frowned, raising his shoulders. Did he look imposing? Did he look powerful?

     His shoulders dropped, and he tried to puff out his chest, flexing his muscles. 

     No, now he just looked stupid.

     So much had happened in the last little while, and Pedri felt like he was being left behind. Life dragged on and threw things at him faster than he could imagine, and Pedri was left wondering if he could even handle them in the first place. The room was now beginning to clear completely, and Pedri could see out the window. It was the late afternoon and the sun hung high in the sky, with birds chirping happily as they flew through the air. It was the perfect day to be outside, and Pedri silently wondered if he'd be allowed to take one of the dragons for a ride.

     He walked closer, the mottled, reddish glass hard to see through. In the distance, there was something circling, something much larger than a sparrow or even a hawk. Pedri moved his head, looking for a way to open the window. His fingers hit a latch at the bottom of the windowsill and he turned it, gently pushing out the window and poking his head out.

     Just as he'd suspected, scavengers. Red eyes and sharp, black wings, they had always made Pedri feel slightly uneasy. Nobody knew what planet they originated from, but they always seemed to turn up on battlefields and places of death, ready to scoop up the remnants of life. Death was fine, it was something that he had grown to accept, especially as a Vengess noble. Yet, it was the way they looked at him, with eyes that seemed too intelligent for their own good, that made Pedri want to slice their heads off.

     The scavengers crowed loudly, their grating, almost metallic voices echoing off the palace rooftops, flying over to perch on the edges of the gutters. Their talons dug into the carved rock and they cawed loudly again before moving up the roof. Pedri squinted, the bright sun blinding him as he leaned further out, his torso hanging out the window as he twisted himself to see where they were going.

     He blinked. He blinked again, something had gotten in his eye. Wiping it with the back of his hand, he pulled back to see a dark red smear on his skin. Frozen, he lowered his hand to the windowpane, running a fingertip down the centre. He lifted his hand and saw that a blue streak broke apart the red, the original window showing through a thick, runny coating of -

     blood.

     Inhaling deeply, Pedri wiped his hand on his towel, gripping the rocky face of the wall as he began to climb, following the trail of blood and the rough, harsh voices of the scavengers calling the rest of their flock. He grunted, momentarily slipping. With half of his body hanging down, he saw several pebbles drop, plummeting to the ground far below, way out of his sight. Steeling himself, he dug his claws into the rock once again and scrambled up the side, pulling himself up.

     High above, the bell tower stood against the skyline, blocking out the light and casting a shadow onto the spires below, the rough metal twisting into points like the heads of spears. The roof was made of dark iron and clay, dirty from years without cleaning. Pedri raised his hand to shade his eyes, gaze dragging along the floor as he followed the red stream, finally led to a huge mass of vultures, perched and clawing at something stuck on the nearest metal grating.

     Pedri yelled at them, waving his hands and swirling the air around, sending the scavengers away in powerful gusts. The last, black feathers settled to the ground, and Pedri turned back.

     He fell to his knees.

     A mangled, bloody form was impaled on one of the castle points, the dark spire bursting through the torso, breaking bone and tearing flesh. The skin was partially torn away and eaten, with some bloody, stringy muscle attaching shattered bone and cartilage to what was left of the ribcage. remnants of clothing were soaked with blood and the contents of the intestines, burst and strewn about the roof in smeary streaks. The skull was cracked, and parts of the brain leaked out, dripping down the curve of the horns that jutted from the side of the head. There was some hair left, but it was barely attached to the scalp, probably stolen for some sort of morbid nest for a scavenger.

     The arm hung to the side, twisted at an unnatural angle, fingers gnawed at or completely snapped off. The wrist was covered in raw, red marks that tore into the skin, and dark, black burns lined the edges of the torso, only adding to the horrible smell.

     Fuck, the smell. 

     Pedri covered his nose and stepped forward, ignoring the wet, warm sensation under his feet. The blood furthest to the edge was beginning to dry, and flaked off when his heel brushed against it. Pedri could hear the scavengers coming back, and he moved forward again, grimacing as the internal organs slid out of the body, dropping onto the metal grating with a wet sound. Dark, yellow pus oozed from open wounds and Pedri made an uncomfortable noise as he reached for the head, ignoring the red, empty eye socket. With one swift movement of his wrist, the head twitched, flipping to face the other way so Pedri could see the face.

     Smiling, peacefully, with his face streaked in gore, was Marok.

-

     Wrathia could hear her mother throwing up in the bathroom. 

     The acrid, acidic smell of vomit made her gag, and broken, strangled sobs echoed against the floor. On the bed, Ellia sat silently, her body shaking as she pulled the blanket over her shoulders tighter. She clasped a hand over her mouth and made an odd, whimpering noise. She slid slowly to the ground, the blanket bunching up and her hair falling into her eyes, but from the way she glared forward you would think she wouldn't have noticed. Breathing heavily, she shuddered, pressing her palms against her eyes as she teared up.

     Now it was night, though you couldn't tell by looking outside. It looked like the sun was out, from the amount of lanterns that hung from the roof, illuminating the rooftops with glowing light. Above, several sets of footsteps could be heard, and intense, low voices that were muffled by the roof. Wrathia stared blankly at the wall, her face void of emotion as she blinked slowly.

     Next to her, Manaria sat quietly, staring at the ground, her hair blocking her face. Every so often, Wrathia could hear the sound of teardrops hitting the smooth, stone floor, though Manaria never raised her head. Instead, she continued to wrap bandages around her knuckles, which were bleeding profusely.

     When they had first found out, Ellia had gone pale, eyes widening as she spilled her wine onto the white tablecloth, the dark liquid seeping in like blood. Manaria had jolted out of her chair, and had run up to Pedri's room faster than anyone could stop her, not believing what she had heard. They had found her sitting on the ledge of the window, knuckles raw from punching the rocky wall, back heaving as she breathed too quickly to speak.

     At first, Ria had attempted to help, leaving Ellia and the girls in the bedroom, climbing up the walls of the palace to see the damage. But, it had been too much, and she'd barely been able to swing in the window before vomiting in the bathroom through muffled gasps.

     Wrathia felt something.

     It was not a lamentation, it was not sorrow, it wasn't even grief.

     It was just emptiness.

     There was the sound of water running and Ria stepped out, wiping her mouth. Her red hair, usually tied up so perfectly, was down, twisted into wavy tangles and knots. She sat next to Ellia wordlessly, putting her arm around her awkwardly and pulling her into her chest, listening as the sniffles grew into wailing sobs that wracked her body like a ship in a storm. Manaria stood, saying nothing as she walked over to her mother, putting a hand on her shaking body as she resumed her position, staring at the ground with one hand fisted into her hair.

     Ellia cried openly, and Wrathia sat by herself, bringing her knees to her chest as she stared at the ground in front of her, eyes picking apart every detail of the frayed carpet. The room still smelled the same, not yet altered by Pedri's residence. It smelled like spices and ink, and sweat.

     And blood.

     There was the sound of metal creaking, and Wrathia stood, walking over to the bathroom. Inside, Pedri was ripping the window off of its hinges, grunting in frustration as the iron groaned and twisted. With a cracking sound, it ripped from the stone, and Pedri moved over, setting it against the wall.

     "It's off," he called out, looking through the hole in the wall.

     "Incoming."

     Wrathia stood in the doorway, watching wooden slats swing into the ledge. On each one was some undeterminable part of Marok, poorly covered by dark cloth. Above, she heard the rumbling of thunder, and her premonition was confirmed when Pedri spoke.

     "Fuck, it's raining."

     From above, there was an added sense of urgency. Wrathia could hear her father's voice, clear over the sound of rain. "Someone needs to cover this area, or else it'll wash away."

     "I can do it!" Pedri shouted up. The rain was starting to come in through the hole and hit the wooden frames, dark spots of water wetting the wood. With his hair wet, Pedri shook his head, eyes squinting as he poked his head out, calling louder. "I can cover it!"

     "We need someone to bring in the pieces!"

     "I'll do it." Wrathia walked forward, watching Pedri turn around. "Go up, tell them I'm down here in your place."

     "Princess, are you sure that you'll be alright with this?"

     Wrathia blinked, clenching her jaw as she dragged the first frame over, ignoring the red streaks it left. "I need to be."

     Pedri nodded solemnly, hanging one leg out as he hopped up, climbing the wall for the second time that day. Wrathia closed off her mind, ignoring the smell of Ria's vomit, ignoring the sound of Ellia crying, ignoring her cousin sitting on the floor with nothing to say. She forgot everything and instead focused on catching the frames that came in through the window, and the silent looks she shared with her father when he came back in.

     Around them, on flat pieces of wood and anything else they could find, was Marok. Covered in cloth, bleeding, in pieces, but still Marok. Pedri came in, eyes shifting to a particularly large pile. The fabric on top was completely saturated and stuck to the flesh, showing the outline of what looked like an arm. Shaking it off, he looked up at the king, who raised his chin.

     "I've put up as large a field as I can," Pedri said, gesturing upwards. "It'll shield it from the rain for now, but we should really work on getting a better cover for when the Lady Sorceress gets here."

     "Indeed." The king looked back at the guards who stood behind him, watching them run off without an order. In such a situation, Pedri's word was to be taken as an order, for this was dealing with the inner workings of the court, not with planetary affairs. The king was above him in rank, but when dealing with the murder of a noble, there was an uneasy equality between Ehtar and the new Chief Enforcer. The rain poured down heavily, and some of it came indoors, a small puddle forming beneath where the window used to be. Wind blew in gusts, and Ehtar lifted the window back up, shoving it into the frame. Though bent in some places, it silenced the howling of the wind to a soft whistle, and they all watched silently as the rain washed away the blood caked on the glass.

     Wrathia moved to stand close to her father, uneasily looking up at Pedri. From behind, they heard the doors to the room open as the guards left, but could also hear the voice of someone they had forgotten about.

     "Please, could I... just... speak to them? Someone? _Is Manaria in there- is Wrathia in there?_ "

     Wrathia looked behind her, her voice barely a whisper. "Corval." 

     Pedri's eyes darkened, and he took long strides, his steps seeming to shake the floor as he walked to the main doorway, stepping in front of the guard.

     From the bathroom, Wrathia could see nothing, and stood with her father, looking away and saying nothing as they listened.

     " _Lord Pedri, is everyone alright? I don't know what happened, but is there any way at all that I could help?_ " Corval's voice was panicked and Wrathia could imagine him gripping his hands together and eyes widened, so flustered that he spoke in Karo.

     " _Lord Pedri, please, are they alright? Can I go get anything? I'm sure that-_ "

     "You're not needed."

     Wrathia was stunned. She could feel her fingers curl into a fist as she stared at the window, tears coming to her eyes.

     " _Is Wrathia there? Please, can I talk to her? I need to know what's going on._ "

     Pedri's voice was low, and he spoke gruffly, gritting his teeth. "Your Highness, your services are not needed at the moment."

     " _I-I'm sorry?_ "

     Pedri exhaled slowly, his grip on the door handle becoming tighter. "Due to the circumstances at hand, I regret to inform you that you will not be able to see the princess or any of her relatives at this point in time."

     " _But, maybe I-_ "

     "Goodnight, _Kana_ Corval."

     And the door shut.

-

     Corval stood silently at the door, listening to Pedri's retreating footsteps. Hand still raised, he lowered it, eyes still boring into the wood where Pedri's face had been. Frowning, he turned and walked back down the hallway, mind racing as he made his way back to his room. To be worried was an understatement, Corval felt extremely anxious and was panicked that he had no idea what was going on.

     He had never had a friend before, and Wrathia was the first person who had ever been his friend. Even Manaria, he cared about her greatly. To know that something had happened yet he could do absolutely nothing to help? The idea killed him inside. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even realize that his mother was in front of him.

     " _Corval, what seems to be the matter?_ " The Kala lifted his chin, startling him before he realized who it was. Genuine concern was on her face as she turned his head, checking him for marks. Corval felt his stomach drop at the memory of home, coming back after school with bruises and hurtful names ringing in his ears. They always targeted him because they knew he would never tell on them. His mother's voice became louder. " _Did someone say something to you? Did one of the other nobles hurt you?_ "

     " _No, Kamar, nobody has hurt me._ "

     " _What's wrong then? Did something happen?_ "

     Corval looked over his shoulder and back down the hallway. " _Something has happened with someone in Wrathia's family. They won't let anybody else in._ "

     The _Kala's_ face shifted, and Corval watched her stand up to her full height, face unreadable. " _Why would you be worried about Wrathia's family?_ "

     " _Because she's my wife? And my friend?_ "

     " _I suppose, though if they won't even let you in, how can you be sure that they trust you?_ "

     Corval moved from one foot to the other, looking uneasy. " _This is a difficult time for them. I wouldn't blame them if they needed to remove themselves from the public eye,_ " he paused. " _Even if that includes me._ "

     The _Kala_ kissed his cheek and smiled, looking up at him. " _You're far too forgiving, my son._ "

     "I don't think so," Corval said.

     " _It's late, you should be getting to bed._ " The _Kala_ put her hand on his back and gently nudged him towards his room, waiting for him to open the door. " _If it helps you sleep, I'll see what I can find out about what happened?_ "

     " _You'd do that?_ "

     She smiled, shaking her head and laughing lightly. " _I'd do whatever makes you happy, Corval._ "

     A small smile curved across his lips and Corval stepped inside, looking back to call out to her. " _I love you, Kamar._ "

     But she was already gone.

-

     Pedri slept uneasily, eyes flickering as he rolled over in bed, his dreams escaping him. His room-- no, Marok's room, smelled burnt, cleansed by the Sorceress but still full of inescapable dread and the smell of smoke. He rolled into his back, throwing the covers off and staring at the ceiling, eyes seeing bits of dust floating in the darkness. The palace was silent, and everyone had left, leaving him to his own devices with the blood of a Vengess drying on the roof above.

     Pedri could hear himself breathing, was hyperaware of his chest rising and falling. He couldn't get to sleep, though he tried. He closed his eyes again, but winced when his third eye flickered open. Confused, he closed it, only for it to open again, blindly swivelling around as if it had a mind of its own.

     Down the hallway, Pedri could hear soft humming, and a muted, red light flashed under his doorway as someone walked past, humming their song like a lullaby. A sharp pain in the centre of his fore-eye spread to his head and Pedri grunted, gripping his head and forcing the eyelid shut. After a few seconds, he tested it again, closing both eyes and opening the third, but could see nothing except for darkness. Slowly becoming worried, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, feeling unusually hot. He swallowed heavily, straining to see something in his blindness. 

     Then he did.

     A red eye, looking right back at him.

     He made no noise, but instead scrambled back in the bed, his back hitting the headboard as he closed that eye, and opened the others. Breathing heavily, he looked around the room, for someone who had been watching him, who had been looking into him through his eye.

     Someone who had been reading his mind, through the eye. 

     Someone had been sifting through his thoughts, his memories, picking them apart. He felt violated, like something slimy had wormed its way into his head, only to squirm off once he had noticed it. Lying back down, he tried to calm himself, tried to get to sleep despite the fact that he felt a need to cover his forehead with his hand.

     Something that would distract him, that's what he needed.

     Counting dragons? No, that was stupid, he wasn't a child anymore.

     Imagining a happy place, yes, that's it.

     Pedri imagined a huge field under the stars, and he was lying in the tall, swaying grass, finding faces in the constellations. He could see the moon hanging in the sky like a lantern, and he felt a lot calmer, and a lot more peaceful. He began to fall asleep and grinned, content to stay there forever. In the last remnants of his consciousness, someone reached for his hand, and under the starry sky, lying beside him in the grass, Wrathia intertwined her fingers with his as she fell asleep, smiling softly when he whispered her name.


End file.
